I, Ithorian

I’ve seen the Emperor.  I’ve clasped his cold, wrinkled hand and felt the impossible strength flow from his five fingers into my three.  I understood the great honor it was considering my status as a non-human, as an Ithorian.

I loved my home planet of Ithor.  I daresay I even loved my clan.  Our clan was one of a few clans that lived on the planet’s surface in small villages tending herds of all types of animals.  I won’t utter the names of the beasts I tended; you wouldn’t understand the sorrow as it translates in my language.  I was Davimar of Clan Aralica until the night my clan betrayed me, the night a force of rebel scum took advantage of Ithorian hospitality.

They landed in three ships; a beat up YT-2000 freighter missing most of its left mandible, a stolen imperial shuttle painted with garish red stripes that were already pitted and scarred from turbolaser fire, and an antiquated Z-95 Headhunter with the top half of its right engine sheared completely off.

Dread flooded my system like icy caf, not because of the damage done to the ships, but because of the damage the mere presence of these ships could do to my beloved home, clan, and herd.

Our clan leader, an eccentric Ithorian loved by most our clan solely because of his age, greeted the thirty or so rebels with open arms.  He went so far as to embrace one of the older humans while speaking the traditional Ithorian words for welcoming home a member of Clan Aralica.  The wounded men and women were taken off the ships and treated as our few technicians were set to the task of repairing the ships.

I allowed my anger at this invasion into our noble village subside long enough find my way back to my herd.  Walking amongst my beasts was soothing and I quickly forgot all about the rebels and the trouble they would eventually cause.

It was roughly half a day later when my meditation amongst my herd was interrupted by my clan brother Hathmar.  He informed me that our clan leader wished to see me.  The guilt floating behind his words tugged at my curiosity and I set out to see the clan leader at once.  I should never have left my herd.

It was strangely quiet in our village center.  Even the noisiest insects couldn’t be heard singing their pre-dusk songs.  I heard a hydrospanner clatter on our permacrete landing pad, but the sound was a muffled whisper of an accident in the oppressive silence.

It was a somber mood I found in the leader’s hut.  Branches from our most sacred trees were set in wall sconces and set ablaze like torches (this was a ritual used during meetings of great importance).  The fragrance from those burning branches was akin to a sedative and my eyelids were almost instantly heavy.

The clan leader greeted me with open arms, those same friendly open arms that embraced the rebel leader who even now stood, arms crossed, in a dark corner, a sneer plastered across his grotesque human face.  He had the look of a person armed with a vibroaxe, ready to take the last swing and fell the greatest tree in all the forests of Ithor.

The clan leader, who name I would not spit at my worst enemy, continued his friendly greeting.

“Davimar, clan brother, greatest of herdsman.  Healthy may your future herds always be!” his voice was cheerful, but I heard the treachery in it none-the-less, and instantly I was awake and alert.  I nodded.

The clan leader seemed confused by my lack of an equally friendly reply but he pushed forward anyway.

“No doubt you have heard that our friends from space have come for aid.  I have decided,” he lifted himself to his full height, extending the curve of his trunk so that his eyes nearly scraped the ceiling, “that we shall aid them in every way possible.”

I blinked at him, trying my best to stay calm even though the panic in my chest was being fed by a growing rage just barely contained.  The rebel leader chose this time to come forward out of his dark corner and without even a greeting began to speak to me.

“We require certain…resources…the most important being the parts to repair our ships which were badly damaged by those sith-spawned Imperials that are camped right outside of this system.  You Ithorians are showing a greater skill in repairing the ships than I had thought possible.  Along with refitting our ships comes the need to refill our holds with foodstuffs.  Your leader, a friend of mine back before you were…if you Ithorians are born in normal ways that is…has agreed to help us out with a certain amount of rations.

His smirk grew and I knew the danger even before the clan leader spoke.

“Davimar,” the leader addressed me, putting his three fingered hand on my shoulder, “your herd consists of some of the healthiest and fattest creatures.  For the good of the rebel cause, we must sacrifice your herd so that these men can go on fighting.  A soldier cannot fight on an empty stomach.  Please understand.”

I blinked again.  The reality was too much to bear.  I had raised these beasts from egg, seed, and birth.  I knew each one personally, I could communicate with them, and now they were to be food for men who fought their government like children angry with a strict parent?

I laughed.

“You know as well as I do that not all of my beasts are docile.  Some are more ferocious predators than the smugglers and pirates you rebellious humans call allies.”  I was smug with the idea that the predators would kill and devour these same usurpers who came to take away my beasts.  While some may die in the fight, they would die bravely, honorably.

The rebel leader laughed.

“As we speak, young Ithorian, your…predators…and the more fatty animals are being systematically nerve gassed.  A gas designed specifically for the quick death of Ithor’s creatures…minus Ithorians.  Actually, the whole process only required one of my men.  I believe most of your herd is under the butcher’s knife by now.”

“Liar!” I spat out of both mouths before my mind could control the anger that sprang full force into my body.  We Ithorian are known as a race of gentler more pacifist-like creatures.  Do not ever bring us to rage.

“Now, Davimar!  Calm down.  It’s for the good of the galaxy.  These men are fighting to liberate us from under the oppression of the Empire…”

The roundhouse kick that I landed across his eye trunk caught him mid sentence and sent him sprawling across the floor of his hut.  I grabbed the rebel leader around the throat with one hand and squeezed until his eyes bulged.  I slammed the fist of my other arm into his stomach until I was sure there was no wind left in him and then, in my rage, tossed him aside like a child’s leaf doll.  He hit the floor and I don’t know what became of him afterward.  I grabbed one of the burning branches from its wall sconce and set the clan leader’s clothing ablaze and watched as it hungrily devoured the fur carpet beneath him and catch quickly onto wall hangings.  I grabbed a hunting spear before leaving the clan leaders hut to burn.

Rage filled my eyes and the roaring of the blood in my body blocked out all sound.  Rebels came running left and right to the sights and sounds of the fire engulfing the hut.  Nobody paid me any mind.  Who would have expected the Ithorians right?  I saluted the rebel guarding the ships in a clumsy way and when he saluted me back I droved the spear into him until he stopped moving. 

The YT-2000 was the first sabotage.  I played with the engines until they overloaded and blew out, far beyond repair.  The Z-95 was a simple matter of placing a hydrospanner where it shouldn’t have been and walking away as the already damaged engine blew the whole wing assembly off.  I then sliced my way into the stolen imperial shuttle and closed the ramp behind me.  Never anger an Ithorian who has some knowledge of how ships are put together and wired; a few cut lines and there was no way that ramp was being lowered from the outside.

I strolled into the cockpit of the craft and looked out to see rebels running here and there.  My rage was calming but my anger burned like a lightsaber in my gut so when I found the weapons console my heart flew.  The rebel rigged anti-personnel lasers made a satisfying chunka-chunka sound as volley after volley caught Ithorian and rebel alike and dropped them like so many gassed beasts.  It was when I cut down Hathmar, the messenger from the clan leader, that I dropped my clan title.  I was no longer Davimar of Clan Aralica.  I was now Davimar the dispossessed, Davimar the clanless, Davimar the Ithorian beast herder with no herd.

I took off from the planet and hailed the Imperials outside of the system once I was a safe distance away.  When they reviewed the holorecords and ship logs they learned of all my deeds.  And when they interviewed me and I told them the whole story I was granted an audience with the Emperor.  It was his handshake that solidified what I am today, a weapon for the imperial cause.  I am the vibro lance swung at the head of the rebel serpent.  May they cower in fear.