# Star Wars: A Love Story



## LostSoul (Jan 28, 2003)

Here's a story I'm in the process of writing that is background to the Heroes of Kalarba campaign.  It deals with how Brooke & Troy met.  There's some sex and profanity so if you're easily offended you might want to look somewhere else.

I've got more of this done but I'm just waiting to see what I think of it in a few days.

---

Troy Chance looked at his reflection and adjusted his necktie.  He wasn't having any luck with it tonight.  He twisted and pulled but the shape never took proper form.  Or was it that he was just not satisfied with the thing?  He had never liked these fancy events, these "how's-your-wife-still-on-her-deathbed-that's-nice-have-a-good-night" functions.  Nothing real said, at least not to him.  He would much rather have jumped out like Arthur did, drinking and whoring somewhere down in the dim rows of lights on the capital city streets where his memories always became fuzzy the next morning but left him feeling pleasant and ready to face the day.

Maybe there would be a game here tonight.  That he could almost count on.  The Count of Lower Aquessa, Troy knew, was an addict to the card and die.  Troy knew of this urge to lose money but could not understand it.  It was something that he accepted but knew that he would never experience.  Troy felt immune to it, like that invulnerable feeling that you have when you're young.  He was an odds-man, playing the numbers and the faces.  And he had ways to make sure the numbers stayed in his favour without the faces knowing.

Troy ripped at the cumbersome Kalarban necktie and threw it into the sink.   it, he thought, and undid his top button.   those socialites and thier standards.  I look better this way and if I'm going out later that damn tie is not coming with me.  He adjusted his collar in the fashion of the famous pilots, the war-heroes of whom he had grown up hearing stories, of thier courage and bravery in the old war and the uneasy peace that followed.  He looked into the mirror and his mind drifted away to the grainy old picture he still kept with him, the picture of the pilot with his piercing eyes and look of steadfast courage, the courage that comes with knowing your fate and accepting it.  He looked down for a moment and saw the necktie lying there in the cold stainless steel sink, a dark wet stain on its solid blue surface.  He folded it up and placed it in his breast pocket.

The reception hall was brightly lit and open.  Members of the elite and aloof class wandered about making small chatter with each other.  They waved at Troy and smiled as he walked by, greeting him with pleasantries as he moved towards the bar.

"Nice night, isn't it," said one man he thought he may have recognized.  The drink must have taken the old man away.

Troy smiled politely.  If he had been honest, he would have answered: I wouldn't know, I'm in here.  This wasn't the place for honesty.  He knew that the old man was thinking something suitably unpleasant and would not have engaged Troy if he had the choice.  But when they chose this life for themselves they gave the honesty up.  A fair trade for comfort and beauty.  It's possible to live without any of it.

He leaned up against the polished white sensen-marble of the bar and breathed in its aroma.  That empty smell that came from the marble's absorption of unwanted spills and smokes.  Arthur had called it "the favoured bar of teetotallers and the chaste."  Troy hated it; he was none of these things.  But then what was he?  A drinker, a whorer, a man of vice with a knack for numbers.  Nothing more.  

Troy smiled at this.

"What will it be, sir?" the bartender asked.

"Corellian whiskey.  Neat."

The bartender poured the drink and slid it across the bar to Troy.  Troy opened his wallet and removed some cash.

"This is for the drink.  And this is so you don't have to ask me again what I'm drinking.  Just have it ready for me when I come up to the bar."

The bartender gathered the money.  "Not a problem, sir."

Troy nodded and walked off.


The first part of the night went by slowly.  Dinner was better, because he was already drunk by then and ready to eat.  He ignored the chatter around him and immursed himself in the meal.  It was good and the eating warmed him up.  When it was done he felt tired.  He would have liked to have closed his eyes right there and dozed while his host was toasting the table.  Somebody always brought him out of it, rattling on about thier son in the new inter-system governmental peacekeeping body or daughter marrying some general of a inner-rim world or the new mine they discovered in the galactic fringe.  Troy kept his polite face on and answered with the "really?"s and the "how fascinating"s that he grew up with.  He kept his mind busy by running through numbers, permutations and combinations of hands, rolls, scores, and their pay-off values.  Finally the dinner was over and the patrons left to smoke, gamble, drink, and talk business and politics both low and high.

Troy found himself lounged in a supple targan-back hide chair.  The cool touch of the leather and the night breeze drifting in through the nearby window brought his awareness back to the party.  He sat alone in the corner of the study chamber smoking a long guntha stick, watching the breeze catch and play with the smoke expelled from his lungs.

A group of white- and grey-haired men entered, laughing and boasting loudly, either about this or that event that allowed them to use thier considerable political and economic power, or how this or that business was on the point of breaking out so big that a seat on the Galactic Senate was within thier grasp.  Troy wondered why the powerful lusted after such impotent appointments, why they gave these things value above all else.

"-and that was the end of her!" one particularly boisterous old man laughed.  Troy labelled him Red Face when seeing him.

"Hello, boy," he continued, adressing Troy in that demeaning way old and powerful men treated the young, "I hope you don't mind us breaking your solitude!"

Troy nodded and grinned.  "My mind needed the rest from the dizzying conversation out there."

"Ha!  To be young and ignorant again!  How I long for my youth and days of irresponsibility and carelessness.  There are things to learn from every conversation."

"I guess."

"Ho!  This one is as stubborn as I was!  Hah!  As I said, to be young again.  Ah, well."

Troy nodded to the old man.  He continued his conversation with the others following him.  Troy knew of this man, a rich and power-hungry one from a nearby world.  He was swift and had a sharp mind.  Troy watched and listened to Red Face's boasts, his bragging, and his flock of comerades.  Most were trying to gain some information, some kind of boon from him which they could use either to break thier enemies or gain great wealth.  But Red Face told those kinds of stories that, in the telling, allow you to learn much about your audience while you hide behind the storyteller's veil.  Red Face had a way with words just as Troy had a way with numbers.  In that way, Red Face reminded Troy of himself.

Naturally, Troy hated Red Face.

Troy finished his drink and got to his feet.  The initial drunkeness that came with the first few glasses had passed, and now he could think clearly again.  He felt calm and rational and ready for anything that might come his way.  He hoped to find a game with some of the richer and drunker aristocrats, but even the kid's game of stones and circles would have sated his appetite.

There was a drink waiting on the bar for him.  Troy left a 10-note where the drink was sitting.  The sensen marble was already dry, having absorbed the condensed liquid, and the money skipped errantly under the influence of some nearby breeze.  Troy turned and left with the bill dancing in the wind.

There always was a game of some kind running at these functions and tonight was no exception.  A herd of the usuals, looking serious or trying to, giving off and, in turn, missing tells that Troy could see so far away.  It was always so easy... the calculated winning and losing, never humiliating deep pockets and scaring off those who might upset the balance.  Troy knew the dance well.

"Any seats open?"  Troy recognized them all but knew none.

"Sure."  A narrow faced man with a habit of rubbing his chin pointed at an errant chair.  Troy thought he looked like a rodent although the likeness was not there.  The face called to mind the creature's cowardly habits.

"Thanks."  

Troy sat down and took the cards delt to him.  Three hours later, he left a rich man.

He bought a bottle of the whiskey from the bar and, after leaving a large tip, moved out to the patio to drink by himself.  It was a nice evening, cool winds blowing down from the mountains, the kind of winds that make you feel like you can reach out and touch the stars if only you could fly high enough.  Against the chill of the late summer breeze, the whiskey burned its way down Troy's throat.

How long will this last?  he wondered.  The cash in my pocket now is enough to let me live a normal - boring - life for a while.  Or, if I felt like it, to let it earn for itself.  As it is, this should be gone before the week ends.  I'm a poor man with expensive tastes and friends.  Arthur never went through this, I'm sure.  Being a crown prince must have some benefits.

Troy felt a tug at his guntha stick and let it go.  He turned to see it find its way into the mouth of a woman.

"Are you going to be sharing that at all?" she asked.

"I've only the one glass."  She was wearing a white dress, tight and off the shoulders.  He looked at their delicate curves and the creamy-white of her skin.  Her lips were a pale shade of red, popular among the system celebreties at the moment.  They effortlessly pulled against the guntha stick and opened again to expel the smoke.

"That's okay.  I'm sure you don't mind drinking from the bottle."  She said this and then finally turned to face Troy.  Her face was noble, aristocratic and full of grace, the natural grace one must be born with and can't be learned no matter who your parents may have been or how much money they might have.  Her eyes sparkled from the light of the guntha stick and thier dark green pools hinted of something hidden beneath the surface, something strong and passionate lurking within which would calm all the desires of your heart if only you could somehow experience it.

She flipped a loose strand of her short, dark hair.  "I'm Brooke," she said.

"Troy," he said while filling the glass.  He handed it to her and thier hands touched for an electric second.  She looked him in the eye and he could feel himself drinking her up through her look, that look that he never forgot that seemed to go on and on and on and each moment it stirred his heart.  Finally Brooke cleared her throat and looked at the glass which she sipped lightly.

"Not bad," she said, handing the guntha stick back to Troy and turning to look over the range below.  Troy nodded and took a drag.  It tasted of sweet spice and cinnimon.  He swallowed discreetly and turned slowly towards the lights of Kalarba City and the mountain range beyond.  His eyes lost themselves in Brooke's curves on the way.  Her dress sparkled here and there and danced lightly in the breeze, clinging tighter to her body.  Troy felt the hair on his neck stand up straight and he took another drag of the guntha stick.

Troy stared out at the lights below and above, the breeze in his hair, Brooke's scent in his nostrils.  He felt the inches between them as though they were the width of the world.  He felt her eyes looking outwards as was he and he felt as though the two of them were sharing the same sight.  Brooke ran her fingers through her hair, closed her eyes and raised her neck to the night.  

"I guess I had better get back inside.  Thanks for the drink."

"And the smoke."

"That too," she said and grabbed the smoke again and pulled one last drag from it.  Then she stepped into the light of the reception hall, moving gracefully from the patio as a dancer would.  Troy watched her over his shoulder as she greeted a stranger as an old friend.

She has the same look, Troy thought, but she's the original.  Leelu was an imperfect copy of her, a well made imitation but lacking in those few essential qualities.  She's one hell of a fox.  Troy turned to look at the city and mountains again.  Leelu, he thought, how long had it been?  Years, at least.  He still felt the bittersweet taste of her lips and the firm-but-soft curve of her hips.  That had not ended well.  The loving but the leaving and then nothing.  He had thought he would feel for her for always but soon enough the flame was gone and forgotten, tucked in his memory as something nice and maybe more but nothing more important than any of those grainy night encounters that had filled his time since then.

Troy flicked the half-spent guntha stick over the railing and into the palace garden below.

It was a few hours and many drinks before Troy saw Brooke again.  She was at one of the game tables, sitting a step away.  When she laughed her dress rode up her thigh even higher than it already was.  Troy looked at the long smoothness of her legs and the inviting way she had them crossed towards him.  He leaned up against a nearby doorway and watched her play the game.

She looked over at him when the hand was done.  "I remember you," she said over the laughter of the table.  Each head turned to look to where her words led them.  On seeing Troy the laughter stopped dead and left only the slowly drifting smoke in its wake.  Brooke smiled wide.  

"Won't you join us?"  The watching faces furrowed thier brows and fixed thier hatred.  "At least for a drink."

"To even us out," Troy said, looking Brooke in the eye.

"I hardly think-" began one of the other men, only to stop short cut off from a look by Brooke.  "Well, sit down, boy, and share a drink.  Although you look as though you hardly need one."  The other men chuckled at this.  Troy stepped towards the table and pulled a chair from nearby, placing it next to Brooke, all the while never taking his eyes from hers.

"Thanks," Troy said in that tone of voice that adults use when children tell them things they consider pointless.  The chuckles left the smokey air.  "What's the game?"

"Sabacc," Brooke answered.

"King's rules?"

"Nothing else.  Honour goes to you."

"Thanks."  They had not broken eye contact even with Troy shuffling the old-style deck.  Finally Brooke looked away when Troy began dealing.

"You sound like you know the card games well," Loud Mouth said.  "Certainly you've been to the Casino Royale on Soccarro six?"

"I've had the pleasure," Troy answered.  He was now dealing the cards that he had grown up with.

"Really? I was there once before the spring and the hordes of tourists descended on it.  Back in those days you could get in close with Dean Regal.  He is, of course, the owner of that place.  I spent some long and expensive nights there, back when it was a really high-class place and they knew who to let in.  And who to keep out."

"Really."  Troy anted up.  "Have you been to Casino Royale, Miss Brooke?"

"A Lady like me in such a place?  Never!" she smiled.  Troy knew she was lying.  "You'll have to take me there sometime."

"Of course."

By the end of the night the game was over and Troy had earned the emity of each of the men at the table.  One by one they left in frustration.  When it was Loud Mouth's turn to bow out of the game and only Brooke and Troy were left, Troy looked at his winnings and counted them up.  A pittance compared to what he had began the game with.  Troy looked at Brooke in surprise.

"The Lady did not find you tonight," she said with a smile.  Troy knew the smile, knew that he had flashed it before, using it to calm the shocked faces.  He knew it well enough to know that something else was hidden in it.

Troy leaned back and folded his arms behind his head.  "Looks like she's found you all right."

"Yes, well, it was a lucky night.  Even without your cheating for me."  Troy should have seen that coming but did not.

"Yeah..."

"I'm off to spend some of this.  It's been some time since I've been to Kalarba... and it was nice meeting you, Troy Chance."

"Likewise, Lady Ashby," Troy said.

Brooke stood from her seat and left Troy at the table with his money and the stale smoke in the air.


Troy looked out the window of the sleek air-cab that sped down from the palace hall to the city below.  He liked the way the city looked from above and through drunken eyes.  Calming and yet full of excitement and potential.  Behind every one of those lights was a golden star, a beautiful woman, a treasure beyond imagining.  If only he could bring them to him.

***sun was comkug soon It was early in the morning when Troy found Arthur.  Surrounded by "friends", hangers-on that looked for fun, favours, and the sense of self-worth that royalty brought.  Arthur didn't have any of it, having given too much of himself away.  He was well into his cups but just scratching the surface of the treasury and his limits.

"Troy!" Arthur called out.  He had a wild look in his eyes.

"Looks like you're having a good time."  Troy nodded to old aquaintances and checked out the new ones.  Royalty did have its advantages.  He sat down across from Arthur and next to a long-legged woman with her hair up.

"Have a drink," Arthur said, waving his hand over the table full of smoke and liquor.  Troy shook his head and nodded at a man dressed in silky black.  The man passed a small pouch to Troy.

"I'm going to dance," Long Legs said.  Most of the others joined her.

Troy sighed and took the pouch.

"So, what's her name?" Arthur asked.

"Who?"

"The broad that's got you shaken up.  What's her name?"

"How do you know it's a woman?"

"Last time you did any it was Leelu."

"This one's different," Troy said, passing the pouch back.

"Eh?"

"Lost some cash to her.  In a game."

"No !  She must be something."

"I guess."

Troy felt a rush through his body and most of the night was carried away with it.  But not all; he still saw Brooke on that balcony, star-crossed sky framing her face, her sublime features blending with the night, just as clear now as the moment he saw her.  Troy smiled and took a drink.

"That's more like it.  Come on, let's get this night started."


The sex with Long Legs was long and the pleasure came quick.  Troy fell asleep soon after.

The throbbing in his head came before Troy opened his eyes and woke from the pleasing blackness all around him.  He saw the feet of Long Legs resting before him, heard her gentle breathing from the head of the bed, smelt her aroma drifting on the breeze from the open window with the long, white, thin curtains.  The mid-afternoon breeze was nice and raised the hairs on Troy's arm.

Troy rose and Long Legs stirred.  She opened her eyes and smiled weakly at Troy before falling back to sleep.  Troy watched the rise and fall of her chest, her small breasts bared in the sunshine.  Her hair was balled in a mess around her head, her blue lipstick faded.  Troy went to the washroom, the room spinning slightly around him.

He looked at himself in the mirror, felt the stubble on his face and traced his old scar with his finger.  He took a small pink pill and washed it down with a glass of water.  The throbbing stopped and the room quieted down.  He lathered his face and trimmed the stubble, keeping it clean but still raw.

Troy put on a pair of comfortable lounging pants and sat in a deep chair next to the window.  He took a nearby fruit and looked out onto the neighbour's garden, green vines growing controlled and kept perfectly symmetrical.  Troy bit into the fruit and its juices splashed out against his face.  He wiped them off with the back of his hand.  He lay back deeper into the chair.

He reached over for his comlink and pressed a button.  Then he sat there, finishing his fruit, looking out into the sky.  The wild Vornskyrs flew high overhead, above the feeding pens.  Troy remembered when he first rode one, back when he was a child, and he and Arthur were being schooled in the art of politics.  He instinctivly feared the great, feral beast, but the royal ridemaster had explained that the Vornskyrs had all been raised in captivity at birth and conditioned through pain and pleasure.  Hurting humans was as unnatural to them as roosting on the low, fertile valleys.

With the fruit done he lit a guntha stick.  He remembered old tales from Maia about the knights of Kalarba, flying on their vicious Vornskyrs trained in war, striking at the other houses' mercenaries with thier laser swords.  About the great alliance between House Hosk and House Indobok.  About the great peace that followed for over a thousand generations.  And his thoughts turned to the Clone Wars and the pilots that served in the grand army.  He finished the guntha stick and tossed it out the window into the well-kept garden below.  

A knock at the door woke Long Legs.  Troy answered it and brought in a silver platter filled with warm foods.

"Something smells good," Long Legs said.

"I ordered some food from downstairs."

"I don't know if I can eat anything right now.  Let's have a look."

Troy came to the bed and lay next to Long Legs.  "Coffee," he offered, taking a mug for himself.  Long Legs sat up, folded her legs up against her chest, and took the drink.  Troy lighted a guntha stick and handed it to her.  She sipped the coffee and took a drag.

Troy dug into his meal.  The warm, greasy food coated his stomach.  He felt it restore something that he had lost last night, or maybe before, but something that he hadn't felt slip away.  He looked at Long Legs sipping her coffee and wondered.  He felt an emptyness there, a tree in a forest and nothing more.  She wasn't her.  When the meal was done Troy got up and finished dressing.  

Long Legs looked at him and followed his lead.

"I'm going downstairs to get the news," he said, "You want to come?"  It wasn't a question.

"Sure," Long Legs said, fixing her makeup in the bathroom.

They walked downstairs to the warm light and the cool breeze.  Troy smarted at the sudden exposure and the noise from the street.  He stepped to the curb and hailed a cab.

"Thanks for the night," Troy said as they hugged and exchanged a kiss.  "I'm sure we'll see each other again."

"Sure," she said and stepped into the cab, pulling her legs in behind her.  Troy walked away and entered the cafe.

It was cool in the cafe but the air was warm with the smell of food, coffee and smoke.  The owner nodded at Troy from behind the counter where he was drying out a glass.

"How was the meal, Troy?" he asked.

"Not bad, Atcus," Troy said, sitting on a stool.  Atcus poured him a cup of coffee and offered a smoke.  Troy took them both.  "Left me a little on the empty side."

"Isn't that always the way?  But you still need to eat, even if they can't all be a gourmet feast."

"That's true."

"One of these days, that will change.  When you're ready for it.  What you tell me about the nights and losing yourself in them tells me that you aren't yet."

"I wonder if it will ever change.  Or go away without something better in its place."

"That's always a risk.  What you're looking for can't be found in card, smoke and drink."

"But between a pair of thighs?" Troy offered.

"Maybe.  But not always."  Troy looked at Atcus, watched him lean back, supporting his bad hip.  He had white hair, thinning but cut short and a patchy beard.  He wondered what he was doing here in the cafe, working idly day after day after day and what it brought to him.  Was this what I am destined for?  A lonely life passing time with the random people who pass through?

"There's something in you that you need to get out.  A heavyness on you.  And you feel like you need to cut it out, burn it in the fire and come out clean.  But that way could also break you."

"Another lecture, Atcus?  You know I'm no man for religion."

"We all have our own beliefs, our own faiths.  Whether you admit it or not."

Troy looked at the newsbrief on the counter, the local magazine covering street events and nights out.  He knew where he was going to spend the night and the morning after, and looking at the show's ad excited him.

"Right now I think I'm a worshippper of vice.  Praying at the ministry of sound."

"To find desire on a siren's cry, and god between a pair of thighs," Atcus quoted.


The lights flashed back and forth, spraying images across the club walls.  Troy stood back and took a drag, scanning the crowd.  He felt the pulse of the music and the warm rush of chemicals flow through his body.  He moved his leg in rythym with the bass and tapped out the beats with his fingers.

Arthur put his arm around Troy.  "Look at it all!  Bangin'."  Troy ground his teeth and smiled.

"Hypnotic opera, here on Kalarba," he said.  "I haven't seen it this good since we were at the Casino Royale."

"That was a ing trip," Arthur said, his eyes empty on the crowd.

Troy nodded silently and continued with the beat.  His mind went back to the nights at Casino Royale, when he was still young and everything was new.  Dark and hidden nights with treasures everywhere you looked.  A feeling of complete and utter belonging, of chaotic peace and fulfilled longing.  He remembered the women's eyes and the wholeness he found there.  A tightness gripped his chest.

Let it go, Troy thought, and he floated on the beat.

A half naked dancer high on a platform swayed rythmically.  Fire in her hands and eyes.  The laser lights cast a shadow on the wall behind her, larger than life, a shadow dancer all its own.  Troy watched the shadow dancer and followed along with it.  He moved his tongue to the hightening music, crouching his face in a look of ecstasy.

Arthur was gone, dragged onto the dance floor by a joyless woman in a state of bliss.  Troy smiled and took a drag, felt his lungs expanding and the smoke filling them.  He held it for a moment then let it go, watching the smoke catch the lights and move on its own.

He was someone else for an eternity, but when it passed he was nothing once again.


----------



## LostSoul (Jan 30, 2003)

Troy waited for it to pass in a small back room, where the lights were not so bright and the music not so loud.  He sat there, alone, watching others move and dance and talk in loud voices saying shallow things.  He lit a guntha stick and smoked it slowly.  The steady motion of the smoke, breathe in-out, relaxed him.  He looked around the room at the other faces and smiled.

Then she walked in.  She was wearing long dark pants, tight at the hips but loose at the bottom, and a glittering strapped top.  She walked gracefully but simple, just one foot in front of the other, but she carried herself with such an air of confidence and welcome that he was drawn to her.  Her face with pale makeup and glitter on it seemed to glow in the dark lights.  She was more than life, bigger than this place or him and even herself but she did not know that yet.

She leaned up against the bar and ordered a drink.  Troy looked at her legs and followed them up, up to the curve of her hips where the tightness of her waist and the subtle and alluring toned roundness of her belly drew his eyes into her.  She turned and met his gaze.  A knowing smile came over her face.

The bartender returned with a drink and she took it and paid without looking.  She glided over to Troy and looked down at him.

"Is this seat taken?" she asked.  Troy moved over and she sat down, crossing her legs his way.

"Didn't think I'd see you again so soon, Mr. Chance," she said.  She looked over at the guntha stick and Troy passed it to her.  She took a long drag.  The smoke blew out slowly and formed rings.

"I wasn't expecting you here," Troy said.  "I guess you're on Kalarba for more than the banquet."

Brooke laughed.  "Business, there's always more business to take care of.  But that doesn't mean I can't have fun every now and then."  She patted Troy on his thigh.  

"This is a good night," she said, handing the smoke back.  "I've heard that the crown prince is here."

"I've heard the same," Troy said, accepting the smoke and puffing on it.  He blew out the smoke then caught her eyes.  Her pupils were open wide, large and black like an ocean at night.  He felt a deep connection there, something deep and true but blocked somehow.

"You're from Norval II," Troy asked when she turned away.  She nodded.  "I was born there myself," Troy said.

"Really?"

"Yeah, Tremont Fields."

"I'm from Darshau.  I spent most of my life in the palace there."  She said this and a look of sadness came over her and the blocks between them grew.  Not for lack of trying to keep them down, but it happened nonetheless.  She was a mystery, like a gift wrapped and laid out in the open for you but not to touch until the proper day and you wondered what was in that box but couldn't push too hard or you might break it.

"I've been on Kalarba since I was a boy."

"Because of the war?"

"Yeah."  Brooke let the answer hang there.  Any other questions she might have asked about it were already answered, if not in detail then by emotion.  There had been many like Troy, orphans of the Clone Wars, sent to the safer districts of Kalarba when Norval II was fighting for its life.  Another parentless child of crusading heroes in their star fighters.

The conversation flowed easily but never went deep.  Each time they got close to something inside that gift-wrapped box they quickly backed off.  This made the talking easier but it did not satisfy either of them.  Too many questions left unasked and unanswered.  Nothing to break down the wall that had raised itself between them.  It only made that on the other side more alluring.

Troy felt like he had known her forever.  When they talked it was like time itself had slipped away along with the rest of the crowd and the noise and he smelled nothing but her.  It was a familiar smell but had been lost for so long that it seemed new at the same time.  He could read her expressions, sense her moods.  He knew what to say to make her laugh and what not to say.  But for all this connection there was something she was holding back.  He had seen it in the sadness in her eyes when she mentioned the palace and when she had smiled at him to pacify his pride and ego when she had beaten him.

A silence came over them.  It was not awkward but instead shared and accepted and both were looking into themselves.  Troy knew she was holding herself back and wondered why.  He realized that he was too and this surprised him.  He was not simply following her lead.  Something about her was dark and mysterious and cruel and inviting.  It was more than him.

Arthur entered the silence with a pair of women hanging off him.  He stumbled slightly but kept his balance.  There was a dumb smile on his face and he looked like he had forgotten himself out in the crowd.

"Troy, man, what are you doing sitting back here?" he asked.  Then he looked at Brooke and smiled.  "Oh."

Troy looked at Arthur.  "Arthur, let me introduce the Lady Brooke Ashby of Norval II."  Arthur seperated himself from the women and outstretched his hand.  Brooke took it lightly and shook it.  "Brooke, this is Arthur Denfrey, Crown Prince of Kalarba."

Brooke smiled and looked at Troy.  "You didn't tell me you were friends with the prince," she said playfully.  "How many more secrets have you got hidden from me?"  Troy said nothing and Brooke looked away.

"Well, Troy, me and the ladies here are going to go back to the palace.  You want to come?"

Troy looked at Brooke.  "Sure," he said, standing up.  He offered his hand to Brooke and she took it.


Troy never felt comfortable in the palace during the day.  Too many things going on, too many people trying to look important and busy by running around talking about nothing and doing less.  Troy didn't like the pandering and the falsehoods that Arthur had to deal with every day.  He knew the benefits of being a prince but did not want to experience the down side.

Night was different.  The palace was quiet and dark and cold.  It was like a church at night, knowing that it was an important place in the day but now in the night everything had changed and you knew you weren't supposed to be there and that gave it beauty.  Dark and open and free.  During the day it was not itself; it was the people within.  Now without them it was just itself, a giant temple to the rulers of Kalarba and free from the expectations of day-to-day affairs and with the history of a thousand generations of leaders and the lives they ruled.

Brooke approached him on his side.  She had wrapped her bare shoulders and arms with a thin silk scarf.  She shivered slightly and took Troy's arm and moved into him.  "Cold tonight," she said while they looked out at the lights down below and the stars above.

They stood there in silence, the only sounds coming from the night wind and laughter and giggles from and for Arthur somewhere inside.  Inside was warmth and comfort and food and drink, but they were happier in the cold with each other saying nothing.  The stars glittered in the clear night sky.

"There's home," Brooke said, pointing at one of the brighter stars.

"Not so far away," Troy said.

"But it looks so small.  To think that you can live your whole life in one tiny point of light."

"That's what makes the stars beautiful," Troy said.  Brooke nodded and they stood in silence once again.


Sleep took them early in the night while Arthur was still making noise.  They lay clothed on the cold dark stone of the palace, up against each other, using Troy's jacket as a blanket.  The sleep was restful but the morning light came too soon and the brightness of the dawn's rays on their closed eyes woke them both up.

"Morning," Troy said to Brooke.  "How was your sleep?"

"Fine," she said, waking herself up.  She sat up and wrapped her scarf around herself.  "Morning already?  ."  She stood up and put her shoes on.

Troy lay still with his arms folded behind his head, looking up at her.  She looked over the edge of the palace to the streets below, still quiet but beginning to come to life.  "," she said again.

"I've got to go," she said.  "I had a good time last night."

"Yeah, me too," Troy said.

"I'll see you later then," Brooke said, and she left Troy there on the ground.

"Yeah, see you," Troy said, watching her take flight.


----------



## LostSoul (Mar 3, 2003)

Late spring turned into summer.  It was long and hot and the days went by fast.  The nights took longer and in them Troy felt as though he were missing something of himself.  It was a strange feeling that had always been with him but now he listened to it and let it grow in his heart.

Money still came and went, like women and wine, from cards played at the tables on Kalarba.  It was more calculated than ever now and Troy was much better at it but the winning pleased him less.  It was his way to study the people but sometimes this was too much and he felt like he knew them too well.  It was something that he wanted to stay away from.

Summer gave way to fall.  Troy always liked the change.  The heat and light of summer never agreed with him and only the nights were pleasant.  Fall was a different matter.  There was a fresh crispness in the air and along with the death of the natural world there was a promise for something more, something new and alive to take its place.  

In these months tensions had grown between the two houses on planet.  King Dormanov was ailing and the royal counsellors took a heavier hand in preparing Arthur for the crown.  Troy didn't see Arthur much and when he did the prince was hard to talk to.  Their time together was spent mostly apart, if not in person then in feeling.  They both looked forward to a trip off planet.

Arthur pulled some strings and got Troy a job as a croupier.  Troy didn't mind the job and he used it to get to know the inner workings of the casino business.  It was nothing different than any other profession except that the vices were not hidden by any formality or falsehood.  At the casino everything was out in the open - gaudy displays of wealth, half-naked serving girls and boys, and displays of controlled brutality masking themselves as sport.  Troy liked it here because a man could be himself without having to live by society's standards.

The job didn't last long.  Too many nights of booze and drugs, too many friends, too much personality.  Troy didn't mind leaving the tables behind.  He preferred to be on the other side.  There the only rules were the ones you brought with yourself.

It was the middle of fall and death was on the air.  Trees had lost their leaves and left only barren skeletons clawing towards the impotent sun hidden behind the clouded sky.  It rained with fierce winds and the rain stung Troy's face where he walked along side the street without an umbrella.  The package in his right hand was beginning to soak through.

His apartment was dry but cold and there was a dusty feeling in the air although it was clean.  He slipped off his shoes and hung up his jacket and walked towards his window to watch the rain falling over the city and the shattered lights reflecting off the puddles on the street.  He enjoyed the rain and how the lights seemed to stand alone when you looked at them but in the water they all blended together.  Troy unwrapped his package and pulled out a sandwich and a cup of coffee.  The coffee was still warm and the sandwich dry but bland.

He sat there looking out into the rain for a long time after he finished his meal.  These times he liked best, when there was a quiet light in the room and no nearby noise but outside you could hear the rain falling gently and the spashes of the cars going by and you could watch the people running back and forth trying to keep dry.  It made you feel warm and cozy and it took Troy's mind away from everything else.

Troy's mind wandered onto Brooke.  It had been months since he had seen her and nothing had happened between them, but he still thought about her.  No, he thought, that's not right.  Something had happened.  His mind went back to her and their nights together and wondered what it was about her that kept her in his mind.  Why did he feel like this?  It had been like this with Leelu but that had turned out to be nothing in the end.  Was that going to be it with Brooke?  He wondered if that was a bad thing.  He was probably not going to see her again.

The rain was falling heavier now.  He could see her, of course, if he wanted to.  He wasn't sure what held him back, just as he wasn't sure what drew him forward.  He felt stuck in a middle ground, torn between his thoughts and feelings and he wasn't used to it.  It was like a weight on him that needed to be pushed off but at the same time it was as comforting as a warm blanket.

And so he sat there, watching the rain and the evening grey get darker and darker until he could see his face in the window.  He got up and turned off the light and poured himself a drink of whiskey and sat back down at the table.  He lit a guntha stick now and that lit him up in the window when he inhaled and it was nice.  Once the guntha stick was out he drank the rest of the whiskey and fell asleep in the chair.


When he woke up the rain was still falling and the sky was a light shade of grey.  Troy felt the stubble on his face.  He got undressed and took a shower.  When he was done, he saw a blinking light on his answering machine.

"Troy, Arthur here.  Meet me at Bessie for lunch."  Arthur was planning on sneaking away from the counsellors and attendants that always seemed to be around him these days.  Bessie was his ship, bought on the sly, that they used whenever they wanted to get off planet without any fanfare.  

Troy got dressed quickly.  He was excited about the trip.  The past few months something had been gnawing at him and he wanted to get away from it all, as if leaving his home and his usual hangouts could take him away from himself.  He packed a light bag with a single change of clothes, his cards, and his credit slip.

He went downstairs and ducked out of the rain into Atcus' cafe.  The old man was sitting on a stool behind the bar watching the rain fall.  Troy went up to the bar and sat down.  Atcus nodded to him and slowly went to the coffee maker and poured him a drink.

"Going somewhere?" Atcus asked.

"Hope so."  Troy took a sip of the still steaming coffee.  "Can I grab a sandwich?"

Atcus nodded and wandered off.  Troy sat there and read the news.  More trouble in the inner and outer systems.

Atcus came back with a plate of food.  Troy dug into it.

"You could probably use some time away from here," Atcus said.

"Yeah," Troy replied, swallowing a mouthful.  He washed it down with some coffee.  "Things are slow around here."

"You know what you're looking for?"

"Escape."

"You and everyone.  It's hard to get away from ourselves."

Troy nodded.  "Arthur needs this trip bad.  I haven't seen him much lately, and when I do he's messed up."

Atcus grinned.  "It's good to know that our future leader is taking care of himself."

"This trip will help."

"Things get hard when you realize that you're not the only one out there.  And you have to decide if the pain of responsibility is worth it."

"I wonder what the point is.  There won't be anything left for me.  When I'm gone, that is."

"Life's a bitch.  You have to decide for yourself what it means for you."

"I guess."

Troy finished the rest of his meal in silence.  The cafe was quiet and cool and dry and with the rain outside it was nice.  The food and coffee warmed Troy up and left him feeling tired.  He sat there for a while, sipping coffee and letting his thoughts wander.  A cool breeze entered the cafe with a businessman in a rush.  The wind woke Troy and he got up from the stool.

"I'll see you when I get back," Troy said.  Atcus nodded and went to serve the new customer.


Bessie was docked in a run-down part of the city.  Arthur had chosen this place because the people there could be silenced with small sums.  When you didn't want anyone to ask questions it was best to stay around people who kept to their own business.  People who were more worried about what you noticed about them or were too afraid to take note of you.

Troy was waiting there when Arthur showed up.  He came in a run-down cab that he must have picked up somewhere in these slums.  He had changed cars more than once, then; slipping away and Arthur's commitment to it were more than Troy had expected.  Arthur stepped out of the cab without a bag.

"You ready?" Arthur asked.  He was in a rush.  He unlocked the ship and Troy followed him in.

"Where to?" Troy asked.

"Socarro Six."

"Casino Royale," Troy said and nodded.  "Good choice."

"Let's get this thing off the ground.  I don't know how much time we have."

"That's good with me," Troy said.


The Casino Royale orbiting Socarro Six was a tribute to the commonality of vice.  You could find beings here from all races and walks of life, as long as they had more money than sense.  The Casino had a hard look to it that couldn't be taken away by the flashing lights and holograms.  The veneer of enjoyment was barely plastered over the reality of the place - a place where money, lives, and loves were lost and dashed upon the hardness of space.  To Troy it was like a second home.

Arthur piloted Bessie down into one of the more luxurious docking bays.  As usual, no questions were asked.  The men who ran the Casino didn't care who you were, just as long as you brought money.  The Casino was a good place to find second-hand ships.  It was where Arthur bought Bessie.  Ships were always an easily source of liquid credits.

Reservations were made and Bessie was locked down under the care of the Casino maintenance crew.  Here, in the more expensive sections, you had real people working for you, not the second-rate droids down on the common decks.  The same was true of nearly everything on the Casino.  In some ways it was a fair and just place.  There were no special treaments for people born right and nobody looked down on you if you had the wrong parents or came from the wrong planet.  All that mattered here was money.

The first two days went as they had expected.  They went about their same routine on the Casino, Troy playing and winning while Arthur whored and drank and caught himself up in the tactile vices that were available.  Troy didn't feel that anything had changed here.  He hadn't changed.  The same feeling was hanging over him here.  All that was different was the location.

It was night on the third day and Troy was milling about one of the higher stakes gaming rooms.  There was money to be won here if you could play it right.  That was something Troy was used to and did well.  He ordered himself a drink and stood back by the bar watching for an opening.  The right table and the right faces could make all the difference.

He picked a table with a group of businessmen.  Nobody too powerful that taking from them would be dangerous.  He played the numbers and watched faces.  One of them caught his eye.  It was Brooke.

She walked up to one of the men sitting at the table.  He didn't see her through the smoke and the light until she was there, standing behind one of the game's lesser losers.

"How's the game going?" she asked.  Her voice was as seductive as ever.  Time hadn't changed that either.

"Lousy," the man said.  He was tall and lean and had an expensive haircut.  Troy thought he looked like a piece of polished .  "This newcomer is going to send us all to the spice mines."  The man had a smile on his face when he said this, and Troy knew that he had not pushed too far too fast.

Brooke looked at Troy.  "The Lady's found you tonight," she said.  Her eyes were dull and lacked life through the smoke.  She smiled but it was a mask and meant nothing.  Troy nodded.

Brooke stayed for the rest of the hand.  Troy lost big.  The Polished Man gathered the chips.  "She can't stay with you all night!" he said and lit a cigar.

"Exciting," Brooke said to the Polished Man.  "If you see our friend tell him that I'll be in our room."  She patted him on the shoulder and stepped back out of the light.  The Polished Man nodded and Brooke left.

"How did the old man catch someone like that?" one of the others said.  The numbers left Troy's mind and he focused on the faces.

"How do you think?" the Polished Man said and held a chip between to fingers.  They all laughed.

Troy won big in the next few hands.  He drew them all out, the Polished Man more than any other.  Troy didn't use the carefully practiced words or smiles when he won.  He let them all know that it was a personal matter and the chips were only a way of keeping score.  It wasn't long before they had enough of it.

"I'm done with this!" the Polished Man said and stood up.  "Fleece money from somebody else!"  He handed his chips to a nearby counting droid and put the results on his credit slip.  This broke up the game and soon Troy was sitting there alone.  He downed his drink and lit another guntha stick, filling the air with more of the sweet smelling smoke.


"You got the cash?"  It was a greasy voice that lived in the shadows.

"You got the Regal's guest list?"  Troy asked.  There was a threat in the words and he wasn't bluffing.

"Yeah, yeah, right here."  The greasy man pulled out a data pad and slipped in a small round chip.  A small visual display appeared.  "You got the money?"

Troy put an unmarked credit chip on the table.  The greasy man took it and handed Troy the data chip.  He smiled, a wide toothy grin that revealed neglected teeth, worn away from years of hard drinking and smoking.  The teeth were almost as yellow as his eyes.

Troy walked out of the underground club.  It was hot and humid deep in the core of the Casino Royale and Troy had his sleeves rolled up.  He had a blaster strapped to his wrist and in it there was a small hold-out blaster there.  Troy had learned how to shoot along with Arthur but hadn't taken a shot since his last lesson years ago.  He hoped he wouldn't have to again.

Once he was back up to street level he unrolled his sleeves and put his jacket back on.  He looked up at the dark night sky and the holograms and lights that obscured the stars.  Night, always night here.  It made everything seem so much easier and took away inhibition.  He moved to the street and hailed a cab.

"Where to?" the driver droid said in its tinny voice.

"The Regal," Troy said.

"Yes sir."  The droid started the cab and it made its way towards the hotel.


The Regal Hotel was run by Dean Regal, the owner of the largest casino at Casino Royale and a galaxy-wide superstar swoop racer.  The hotel wasn't the tallest nor the most opulent but it had a look of class that the other lacked.  It had been built before the Casino took off and became well known, just after the Clone Wars.  It lacked the crass lines and gaudy displays that the other hotels used to lure people in.  It was simple and full of style.

Troy walked into the hotel.  The lobbey was small but furnished in the old style.  Troy took a seat.  He knew that if he waited long enough he'd find what he was looking for.  He sat in a targan-hide chair and lit a guntha stick.  The smoke helped him from fidgiting.

Troy waited there for hourse before he saw what he was looking for.  The elevator doors opened and a group of people walked out - all well dressed, all of them with the knowledge that they were better than most.  Brooke was with them.  She was dressed in a fine evening gown and walked with her head high.  Her smile was on her face but it was the same smile that Troy noticed earlier - lacklustre, full of nothing but dead emotion.  Troy watched Brooke as she walked with her group - with Red Face!  He was with her and they were holding hands.  Troy felt his hatred for the man grow.

Troy made eye contact with Brooke and for a second anger crossed her face.  She continued walking to the door.  Once there, she stopped and said something, laughing the words out.  The rest of the group exited the hotel.  Brooke walked straight for Troy.  Troy stood up.

"Hi," he said.  He glared at her.

"What the  are you doing here?" she said.  The anger was no longer concealed.

"Thought I'd see a friend.  Though she might be out of my price range."

Brooke slapped him, hard.  "You don't have a clue, do you?  Look, this is bigger than you - than us.  You don't know what you're dealing with."

"I thought I was dealing with you."

Brooke calmed down.  "Look, Troy, I can see you later - but not now.  This is important."

Troy looked at her.  Anger was on his face.

"Later," she said, and left the hotel.

Troy slumped back into the chair.  What the  am I doing here?  What the  does she matter to me?  Just another piece of high-class trash, a whore by another name.  Who does she think she is?

Why not me?


It was late when Troy got back to the hotel room.  The lights were out and it was quiet.  Arthur must have been out.

He threw his jacket onto a chair and crashed into bed.  He flicked on the holo-vision.  The Casino Royale ad came up.  Fake faces with false beauty covering them looked out from the screen at him.  They laughed and shared enjoyment that came at a price.  Once the ad was over Troy switched through the menu to a violent sporting event.

He opened the mini bar next to his bed.  It was mostly empty but there was still some liquor.  Troy poured himself a drink and sighed.

The fight was short and bloody.  It left Troy feeling empty.  Feelings built up in him like an itch deep inside, something that he couldn't scratch at or get rid of no matter how hard he tried.  The itch was him.

The door opened.  Troy sat up.  Arthur entered the room, looking somewhat sober and worried.

"Get any calls?" Arthur asked.

"Not that I've heard," Troy said.

"Good," Arthur said.  "Hopefully they haven't found me yet."  Troy cocked his head and furrowed his brow.  "Royal guards.  From Kalarba.  They're looking for us here.  I guess they didn't approve of our vacation."

"It was only a matter of time, I guess."

" that!  We can lay low here.  They haven't found us yet.  Maybe they'll leave if they don't find us."

Troy leaned back and looked at the ceiling.  "Whatever," he said.

"What's your problem?" Arthur asked.

"Nothing.  I'm just sick of all this running around.  Why don't you just stand up to them like a man?  You're the ing crown prince.  You'd think they'd have to listen to you."

"Piss off," Arthur said and left the room.  Troy stared at the ceiling, laying there until he fell asleep.


Troy was sitting on a dry floor, looking up at an old man.  Everything was washed out and faded, especially the man's face.  But the feelings were alive and Troy felt like he could touch them, hold them, like they wrapped Troy in a warm blanket.  The old man's eyes, blue eyes, strong and piercing and full of nobility and purpose, looked at Troy with a loving peace.  Troy looked at the wrinkles in the eyes when the old man smiled at him.  

Troy was holding a flight helmet in his hands.  The old man reached down and took it from him, rubbing Troy on the head.  Troy was just a boy.  The old man was wearing a flight suit like the kind Troy had seen in pictures and films.  The old man stood up and looked out the window.  A ray from the setting sun fell on his face and the old man covered his eyes.  Then the old man walked to the door.

A void opened up in Troy and he felt like he was falling.  His world collapsed beneath him.  He tried to say something, tried to move, but something held him back and kept him down.  He couldn't do anything though that was all he wanted from the world.

Troy woke in a cold sweat to the beeping of his phone.  He sat up and took in reality and wiped off his face.

"Yeah?" Troy said into the phone.

"Troy," the voice said.  It was Brooke.  What the hell was she doing calling him?  "Troy, I'm going to send you some data.  Keep it safe."

"Brooke - what -"  Troy was cut off by a squeal of incoming data.  Troy waited silently for the download to finish.  When it was done, Brooke spoke again.

"Don't tell anyone about this.  Just keep that safe."

"Brooke, what's going on?"

"I can't - !" Brooke yelled.  Through the phone Troy heard yelling and shouting and the sound of feet hitting hard against steel grating.  Then a blaster bolt rang out through the phone.  Troy jumped back at the loud, sudden noise and dropped the phone.  When he picked it up again it was dead.


"So that's why you were all pissy, eh?" Arthur said.  "This chick sure makes you moody."

"Yeah, yeah.  Let's try and figure out what happened to her."  Troy and Arthur were sitting at a table.  They had the phone's data recording there before them.  It was flashing a green light, indicating it held something.

"She could be anywhere.  She could have been taken off the Casino.  We don't have a clue."

"Maybe there's something here."  Troy picked up the data disc.

"You know how to get into encrypted files?  I don't."

"This is Casino Royale, remember?  You can get anything here for a price."

"You think it's worth it?"

Troy glared at Arthur.

"Okay, okay.  I guess we're going down below then."

"Yep."  Troy took the disc and slipped it into a pocket.  He picked up the hold-out blaster and put it into his wrist holster, then adjusted it until it felt right, then put his jacket on.

"Let's go."


It took longer than expected for the splicer to get through the encryption.  "Tough ing work," the splicer said, "but that's what you pay for.  It's got a high-level encryption that's more expensive than a virgin whore.  What you guys got here is either Imperial or Rebel Alliance."

Troy and Arthur looked at each other.  Troy threw the splicer a billfold stuffed to the brim with credits.  The splicer took it and flipped through the cash.

"I'm sure it's all here, but I've got to make sure.  No offense."  When the splicer was done counting, he gathered up his tools and smiled.  "If you guys want anything else, you know who to ask for."

"Just forget you saw us," Arthur said.  He leaned so that his jacket would open and reveal the blaster holstered under his arm.

"Gotcha," the splicer said, and left the room.

"What are we dealing with?" Arthur said.  "What'd you get me into?"

"Let's find out."  Troy took the cracked data disc and slipped it into a portable computer.  The computer flashed for a second and then a display came up.  Ships and troop listings and supplies covered the screen.  All of it Imperial.

"Holy ," Arthur said.  "You know what this is?"

Troy nodded.  He played with the listings.  They showed the location of the ships and the troops that they carried.  And they showed their destination.

"The Empire's planning to invade Kalarba," Troy said.


Brooke was strapped to a cold steel chair in a dark and wet room.  She had been stripped naked and beaten.  She knew there were two men in the room but not where.  Even if she could open her eyes, the drugs would have made vision impossible.  She had prepared for torture as best you could, but all the preparation in the world doesn't leave you ready for the real thing.

"There's no point in holding out, you know," one of the men said.  She recognized his voice as the brutalizer.  There was something famliar in his voice, something that reminded her of her father.  "You're only prolonging the pain."

There was a sharp prick in her arm.  She had been injected, again.  Her addled mind knew that this meant they were desperate.  They'd kill her soon enough.

She felt a hand at her face.  "You were such a pretty thing," he said.  "I would have liked to have known you.  Under different circumstances."  There was a cold feeling on her face.  Cold steel.  The Brutalizer held a knife on her.  "Such a shame..."  Brooke felt the knife bite into her left breast.  Her back arched involuntarily with the pain.  She heard a voice scream out in pure agony and terror and despair, the kind of cry that you have nightmares about for the rest of your life if you've ever heard it.  Something in her told her it was she who cried.

Death wasn't far off now, she thought.  Either the drugs or the knife.

The Brutalizer sat down on her lap.  He smelled of sweet spices and sweat.  His breath was heavy with smoke.  She felt the knife between her legs.  "I don't have time for games.  Tell me!"  Brooke had forgotten what he was asking about.  She whimpered.  "Fine," the Brutalizer said with a sigh of resignation.  He jerked back his hand and plunged the knife deep into her belly.  Nerves exploded with red-hot pain, nerves already frayed and hyper-sensitized by the drugging.  The pain rushed through her body and all she felt was pain, all her universe was pain.

Somewhere in the back of her mind she heard herself scream.  No!

My baby!

Brooke's world turned black.


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