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PostPosted: Mon Dec 15, 2003 2:22 pm 
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The flimsiplast trembled slightly as the old man's eyes tore through the information contained there. Unsettling information. A few years earlier, Imperial Army Colonel Salvatore "Shakes" Mateo had been reported lost to Tusken Raiders in a skirmish, body unrecoverable. That dead man now read the note stating that someone hadn't bought the story and was searching for "an aged Imperial deserter." What wasn't contained in the note was the conflict he had felt towards the Empire after so many years of service.

Boot camp had been grueling, painful and seemed an eternity, even now all these years later. Lieutenant Doth seemed to find a personal reward in breaking recruits, reducing grown men to gibbering, cowering creatures. But Shakes had survived and even thrived under the tutelage of his commanders, exhibiting himself to be an extremely capable soldier, proficient with blaster rifle, sidearm and hand-to-hand combat. Directing battle came easily to him and he was recognized for developing a number of tactics that bested long-standing training course records. His promotion to First Sergeant before completing Standard Combat Training proved it. Shakes Mateo was going places. Shakes Mateo was on the fast track.

The years and promotions came and went until Shakes discovered his limitation. Assignments has begun getting easier; easier due to the fact that the enemy was found unarmed and vulnerable. His role was becoming less that of directing battle as it was corralling prisoners. Then the assignments became impossibly difficult: no prisoners. The Empire had reached a point where it could no longer support prison camps and certainly wouldn't collect more prisoners. After a string of failed missions, missions in which the enemy had escaped "capture," Shakes and his commanders had identified his limitation and therefore his "command-ceiling." Assigned missions far from the front lines, Colonel Mateo knew his career had reached it's zenith. It was in this state of mind, Shakes found himself on Tatooine, prepping a site for General z'Nyod's dewback hunting trip. Even at his age, disappearing that night had been easy for an old war-horse like Shakes.

As he slowly worked his way back into civilization, he decided he'd had enough of war and would put his combat skills out of his mind. He found a craft, armorsmithing. It was challenging but he enjoyed it much of the time. Often tempted to pick up a blaster and go after the hides and bones he needed so badly, Shakes remembered his decision and relied on others to bring him what he needed. Weaponsmithing was a natural progression for him and he soon found himself with hardly time to breathe, business was so busy. The flimsiplast from his friend and business partner Liro, forced him to take a break.

"Intercepted this slicing an Imp terminal. I can try to decrypt the rest of it but I think you need to read this closely, old timer," Liro had jotted just above the copied text.

<encrypted> Tattooine shuttle ... <encrypted> Army Colonel suspected <encrypted> current location <encrypted>

He didn't need to decrypt the rest of the message. It's meaning was quite clear and he had a decision to make. Pursue retinal and facial modification from some of Liro's shady contacts or disappear...again. Either way he was going to need money - a lot of it. With determination, he turned to his inventory lists. "Just how many full suits can I make?" he murmured to himself.

See related thread here.

_________________
Liro
"The english language is not a wedding gown, it doesn't get better the more lace you add. It is instead a thong. Less is more." From /.
I need to remind myself of this regularly.


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