Who Mourns for the Stars?

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

Two days ago

POP

Retractable claws were a useful quirk of evolution. For the Cizerack, they were a boon to a species of arboreal feline predators that millions of years later - like so many other sentients - became much more than the sum of their parts. The claws remained for no shortage of practical reasons, and became conveniently useful in moments of happenstance that evolution could have never predicted - such as leveraging the cork out of a bottle of fizzwine.

Opening the ritual New Year's fizzwine had been Cirrsseeto Quez's yearly duty for the past three years on his tour as Captain of the Novgorod. Galactic New Year was, in a galaxy of millions of worlds - each with nonstandard cycles and rotations - an utterly abitrary sort of of day. Pegged long ago in the Republic calendar to Coruscanti standard, it was one of hundreds of customs and rituals that formed the glue that held alien worlds together, even when so many tried to tear themselves apart. It was a locus. A commonality among different people, forcing them to stop and recognize that the things they shared were at least as important as the things that set them apart.

Cirr pried the cork out from his clawed grasp, pocketing it as he tilted the well-chilled bottle, allowing a few tipples to burble into each of a dozen small plastic cups held in front of him. The first few served were dissuaded from drinking with a chorus of "It's not time yet", as each set of eyes kept watch on a chronometer in the Marauder corvettes small ready room. Here, everyone was family. United not by blood or by name, but by cause and shared experience. There were new faces, like Camile Saccard, standing almost too-tall and holding her cheap glass of cheap fizz wine like it was a bit more expensive. Jaden Luka, stuck halfway in a bawdy joke and halfway listening to someone else's tall tale. Omwet Skye, her violet eyes fixed on the chronometer like a kid who really believed in new years and new beginnings. Regan Altink, chewing on a hangnail.

Lyanie.

Cirrsseeto's eyes froze on her as she chatted alongside Jasper Kyl. It didn't take Lyanie long before her eyes had forgotten Jasper altogether, and they shared their moment like they always did.

He smiled. So did she.

A moment was all they could afford. He wore her ring and her last name, but they were the Captain and the Engineer among the crew. Cirrsseeto fought hard to keep the professional distance intact. That didn't mean it was a perfect defense.

"Alrrjight, gatherr rround, gatherr rround."

The Captain finished dispensing the last of their meager bottle, setting the empty container down on the table with a clink.

"Fjirrst, lets gjive thanks to the duty shjift forr coverrjing ourr posts tonjight."

"Here here!" came the group reply, sprinkled with laughter.

"Let's also gjive thanks to Captajin's djiscrretjion," he quipped with a fang-tipped grin. "and jI trrust one measly bottle of fjizz-wjine jisn't nearrly enough forr you all to cause trrouble."

Regan passed a hip flask to one of the junior officers. Cirr pretended not to see it.

"What can jI say. End of the old yearr, and begjinnjing anew. jI'm thankful to see jit thrrough wjith each and everry one of you."

The Captain cradled his own glass between his oversized hands, blue eyes scanning the group.

"jI want to take a moment and rrememberr those famjiljiarr faces who arren't herre now to rrajise thejir own cups. Memberrs of ourr famjily-jin-arrms who djid thejirr best to safeguarrd the futurre we stjill uphold."

Cirr's eyes moved down to his glass as he traced a thumb along it's rim. He didn't dwell there for long before looking up again.

"Forr the fjirrst tjime jin two generratjions, the guns arre larrgely sjilent. And whjile they may neverr be totally sjilent, we know that the peace so many rrealjize today was pajid jin full and not forr cheap. We bearr wjitness to the prrjice. We all hold vjigjil overr what was purrchased. Don't take a moment of jit forr grranted. Don't trrade jit, barrterr jit off, orr cheapen jit forr a thjin prromjise of somethjing else. We each hold a duty to majintajin the peace, but we hold an obljigatjion to ourr fallen to ljive jin jit too."

The Captain shifted his feet a bit, finding the act of standing still on his prosthesis to be uncomfortable. Pausing, he pressed his tongue between dry lips.

"Some starr pjilot once sajid that ljife's harrder than the Kessel Rrun. Therre jisn't a shjip that's everr qujite crrossed the fjinjish ljine, but everryone fljies jit as best as they can. The ones who wjin fjind tjime to tow the ones who brreak down. When thejirr tjime comes, someone else carrrjies them on a ljittle furrtherr."

In the corner of his eye, Cirr could catch the last few ticks of the chronometer leading to the new year. Time to wrap up. Hoisting his glass, the Captain smiled with upturned ears.

"Let's rrun that rrace one parrsec betterr."

A chorus of well-wishes and huzzahs bled into the sound of a countdown, as all eyes turned to the red and black chronometer.

"Ten!
Nine!
Eight!"

Cirrsseeto gravitated from his spot next to the table, invisibly finding Lyanie's side. With everyone else's eyes on the numbers, they each took their liberty to gaze at each other.

"Seven!
Six!
Five!"

The farm girl from Dantooine and the son of a Carshoulis Baroness touched their glasses together, each empty hand finding it's opposite.

"Four!
Three!
Two!"

They sent the year off with a kiss, beneath a chorus of "Happy New Year!" A stream of noise obfuscated them for a moment as a few bars of Cycles' Passing Ballad were sung - badly, as no one seemed to know the lyrics beyond the first stanza. It was a fleeting smokescreen. Cirrsseeto and Lyanie's lips parted with I love you mouthed silently in unison.

"Djid you make a wjish?" Cirr asked, still holding his wine against Lyanie's. It was Cizeri custom, one that Cirr brought with him to their union. Even though Cizerack New Year was a good five and a half months away, he'd saved the Wish for this day, owing to being a man of the stars.

Lyanie nodded cryptically, a grin dimpling her face. Cirr leaned in, his smile broadening.

"Gonna tell me what you wjished forr?"

The Engineer raised on her toes, putting a kiss on the Captains lips to seal them.

"Nope."

It was bad luck, after all. Telling your wish. Besides, they knew each other too well than to cheapen it by giving it away. Or at least that's how Cirr figured it went. Because his wish was always that they'd find a way somehow to run that race neck and neck, as long as they could.

"Me ejitherr."

The Captain and the Engineer clinked their glasses, sealing their secrets with a drink in unison.

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

The Tanu-Wolskaa System
41 parsecs off the Death Wind Hyperlane Corridor
Present Day

There was a small imperfection in the shuttle's inertial dampening energy refresh. It was nothing that would cause trouble under sublight or even light speed. Nothing to the point where you could feel it, but you could certainly hear the sound if you knew what it sounded like. Pulsing, like blood in your ears. Whum. Whum. Whum.

Ever since taking the Captain's chair, Cirrsseeto had become Bothered, as if that were it's own profession. He went out of his way to be perpetually annoyed by the foibles and misgivings of someone else's ship. Certainly not his. Even a within-tolerance variation of this sort would have been beaten into compliance if he was turning a spanner. It wasn't simply pride. It was the peace of mind that came with the serenity of a perfectly-working ship. The whum of a dampener variance caused his ears to prick up, then flatten back in aggrieved posture once more.

"Pojint zerro seven." He blurted unannounced, realizing he was talking to himself, but with an audience of the shuttle's pilot.

"What's that, sir?"

Grimacing, Cirr turned his attention back to his hands. He could go without mentioning it. He wouldn't, of course.

"The rrefrresh. On yourr dampenerr."

Cirr glanced to the cockpit, and the back of the pilot's head as he glanced up at a diagnostic screen near the ceiling.

"Good guess, sir. Point zero six eight."

Whum. Whum. Whum. Cirrsseeto's real leg tapped a restless tattoo against the deck as it bobbed up and down. There was no way anyone would let him tear this ship apart when they got to their destination. The thought of his irritation remaining unvanquished put a glum expression on Captain Quez's face.

"That doesn't botherr you?"

After a moment of confusion, the pilot piped up "Uh, it checks green on the board, sir. Never gave it much thought."

"Wjill you let the galleon chjief jinspect jit when we arrrjive so she can tjighten jit up?" He almost sounded pleading.

"We're, uh, not supposed to cross-platform sir. My flight command would have my ass if I let the cats proceed with unsanctioned maintenance."

As if realizing his mistake, the pilot feigned a cough.

"If I, uh, let the Cizerack, sir. Sorry sir."

So that was it, then. Hoisted by the petard of bureaucracy. Doomed to suffer the whum whum whum of mediocrity. The only stay of suffering was the sudden pitch change in the whum, corresponding with the expected juddering and inertial shift of the shuttlecraft reaching its hyperspace terminus. The kaleidoscope of FTL vortex snapped back into a view of stars in a matter of seconds, leaving Cirrsseeto with a view of a single ship in deep space. Unbuckling his crash webbing, Cirrsseeto stepped forward into the cockpit to take a look.

"That hjim?"

"Yes sir. The Noraai'arree."

There wasn't much mistaking the distinctive lines and liveries of a Cizerack Korri-class galleon. A moment later, the comm line on the shuttle lit up. A text only message. The pilot snapped it up on his monitor, giving a glance.

"They've got us on their scopes sir. If you'll strap in, I'll begin the landing procedure."