Unexpected Arrivals

[Mackenzie Tallen]

There was rated to fly single-seat hypercraft, and then there was accustomed to flying single-seat hypercraft. Until now, Mackenzie Tallen had never truly appreciated the vast gulf between those two states.

As a field officer with the Imperial Security Bureau, it had been a necessary part of his training to familiarise himself with an assortment of starcraft that he might happen across over the course of his duties. He was rated for, and familiar with using shuttles and light couriers. He was rated on starships up to 400 metres. His TIE Fighter aptitude scores were a point of pride, and he'd flown combat in such craft more times than he was at liberty to divulge.

But then there were the hyperspace-capable starfighters. Though the Empire itself chose to rely mostly on sublight TIE Fighters, the duties of an ISB agent sometimes required them to commandeer craft from local militias and private citizens, and so their training reflected that. Mackenzie had trained on fighters with external hyperdrives like the Alpha-3 Nimbus. He'd trained for internal hyperdrives on the Z-95 and Cloakshapes. By the Security Bureau's estimation - and his own - Mackenzie Tallen was rated and ready for anything. He was not.

It was with a sense of relief that Mack watched the countdown cycle all the way to zero, and was permitted to reach out and push forward on the hyperdrive controls. The StarViper that the Mandalorian military had set aside for his use was a beautiful craft: a marriage of ancient Basilisk war droid design from Mandalore's past with modern TIE Fighter concepts imposed and inspired by the Imperial occupation of Manda'yaim. The cockpit, with is vast forward viewport felt comfortable and familiar to the TIE-trained agent. What was deeply unfamiliar, and more than a little unsettling, was the experience of flying such a craft through the swirling void of hyperspace.

Until now, Mackenzie had not realised how reassuring it was to be in the cockpit of a Headhunter-style snubfighter, surrounded on most sides by the reassuring embrace of durasteel. Hyperspace was above and before you, but the presence of hull beneath your boots, and structure constantly in the periphery of your vision was a comfort when you stared out into that cascading blue abyss. In a StarViper though - and presumably in a TIE Defender, or any of the other hyperspace-equipped members of that family, that Mackenzie had thankfully missed out on the opportunity to fly - your entire field of view was as empty as possible. In combat, it maximised your visibility, but in hyperspace it did the exact same thing. If Mackenzie glanced down past the flight controls, he saw himself on a precipice suspended over infinity, seemingly one false move away from a fall into oblivion. Stuck in hyperspace for several hours since they had left Mandalore, Mackenzie had never been so unsettled for so long in his life.

As the stars and the black came back into focus, Mackenzie released a small sigh of relief. True, the abyss beneath him was still infinite, but he'd done his mandatory zero-g and ejection training; he knew how survivable the vacuum of space could be, if you knew what you were doing. The stars remained reassuringly still, and the vastness of space just sat there being vast and benign; quite the contrast to the swirling maelstrom of death that lay beyond the speed of light.

His nerves hadn't quite settled by the time a voice crackled through his helmet comm, however; he forced himself to take a moment to collect himself.

"Landing clearance obtained. Escort fighters: form up for our approach to the station."

"Escort-2, copy," Mackenzie acknowledged, gently leaning his StarViper into a roll as he peeled right, banking around to take his position aft and starboard of the Kom'rk transport's thrusters. A sidelong glance revealed Escort-1's corresponding fighter in corresponding position off to port. He exchanged a silent respectful nod with the pilot before concentrating on the flight trajectory that his HUD superimposed over the starfield ahead. Following the curved arc with his vision, his gaze came to rest upon the familiar dorsal view of Jovan Station, floating like an ugly great asterisk in space.

At least I won't have to look at that once I'm inside, he mused. Imperial design and architecture could be striking and impressive when it wanted to be, but stations of this type were a failed endeavour. Unless, of course, Fleet Command had wanted it's stations to look like space mushrooms doodled by a one-armed blind man; in which case, good job.

The three Mandalorian ships followed the path that the station's Alliance occupants had issued with meticulous care, and before long they had swooped below the docking arms, coming upon one of the many glowing wounds in the station's side from slightly below. Metre by metre the landing bay grew; before long the tiny moving specks had grown into recognisable figures swarming across the bay, and the gaping entrance had swallowed Mackenzie and his companions whole. The StarViper shuddered as magnetic energy buffeted his bow, the field fighting to keep the precious atmosphere in, but surrendering enough to allow spacecraft inside. Idly, Mackenzie wondered just how powerful the repulsive force was. Did the ground crews of stations like this have to contend with debris and micrometeorites finding their way through the atmosphere shields, like dust and leaves wafting in through an open door?

As Escort-2 settled down with a clunk against the Jovan Station deck, Mackenzie extracted himself from the cockpit with a little more enthusiasm than quite fit the impression he was trying to convey. He longed to rip the helmet from his head, and grant himself a few breaths of fresh air - or at least, fresher air; the station's air circulators were somewhat more effective than the feeble units installed on his ship. That wasn't permissible though, not now at least. He had been wrapped in the accoutrements of Mand'alor's personal guard: traditional Mandalorian armour painted in the colours of the Death Watch. Personally, Mackenzie didn't much care for the symbolism and meaning of it all, but he respected the need for such things; and so he carried himself with the poise and professionalism that Mand'alor would expect from him.

A few paces carried him and the stoically silent Escort-1 to the base of the transport's boarding ramp. For a moment, Mackenzie entirely forgot the helmet hiding his features, and took great care to adjust his expression into something modestly polite as the transport's most notable passenger disembarked: Beviin Goza, the sister of Mand'alor. If there was a fancy word for that, Mackenzie didn't know it yet; nor did he much care. He was making the effort to respect the Mandalorian traditions for the sake of his father and sister - mostly his sister - but there was respecting the letter of the traditions, and there was respecting the precepts they were based on. The former, Mackenzie did very well; years of Imperial service had taught him how to obey with orders and protocols that he didn't necessarily agree with. But respecting the pseudo-religious basis of all things Mandalorian? The notion that by not complying with a few rules and a few morals he was somehow dooming his soul to oblivion? That was a tougher pill to swallow. That would take some time.

Of course, if anyone asked, he could fake it like the best of them. He was honoured to be here; to be part of Sisterlore's distinguished entourage on this vital mission for the brave and noble people of Manda'yaim. Suddenly, he was very glad of the obscuring quality of his helmet, and his well-practised ability to sigh silently.