Luck of Ord Mantell
Former Imperial science officer who now leads the Wamp Rats
Player – Adam
I played in the endless fields of Naboo as a child, swatting tall grass with a broken broom handle that I fancied was a gleaming cutlass. The blades of grass fell with every swoop of my fabulous weapon, each one I imagined as a pirate or an assassin droid.
My mother took away the broomstick but never threw it away. “Do you want to end up like old uncle Aatir?” my parents would ask. Poor Aatir, already in his twilight years, stumbled around on two cybernetic legs. Not the fancy kind either. The cheap cybernetics they give to old soldiers. But his eyes lit up when he remembered the old days and the stories my parents forbade him to tell.
And my mother reminded me of the foolishness of looking for adventures by hitting me with that broom handle if I got behind in my studies.
From then on my life moved swiftly along the tracks that my parents carefully laid out for me. I excelled at all of the sciences and was asked to serve the empire’s military on special projects. I never asked questions and kept my head down, just like I had learned growing up. I wasn’t happy. I wasn’t sad. I just was.
A rebel soldier—only a boy—was brought to me in a force cage. I asked him his name. “Cenn,” he replied, scared. I was told to test a flesh eating toxin on him, and then I was left alone with Cenn who tried to act brave.
My commanding officer arrived the next day asking about the toxin. I pointed to a dismembered hand on the floor on the force cage. “That is all that remains of the rebel,” I said.
An alarm sounded. I was disappointed, but not surprised. My commanding officer punched up a security feed on my monitor that showed Cenn climbing out of a box and running out of the building. I had tried to ship him out in a crate, but I knew he would probably be found. Cenn ran beyond the range of the scanner, firing back over his shoulder. I never saw him again.
My CO figured it out sooner than I expected. “If that was the rebel,” he said, his hand moving toward his side arm, “whose hand is that in the force cage?”
With blurring speed I would not have had at my disposal the day before, I took the blaster from his holster and shot him. “It was my hand,” I said, shooting him again. “I made a new one for myself.” I think he died as I was pulling a glove over my robotic addition.
I left the building by the front door, as I had done every day, even tipping my cap to the security guards.
Finding a transport to a rebel controlled planet was easy. I was boarding the old cruiser with my head and shoulders lifted high when I noticed a military supply merchant nearby. I could not resist.
The cruiser was nearly leaving the dock when I returned, dashing up the loading ramp with a smile on my face and a fine Correllian Cutlass under my arm.