Lysle of the Hydian Way
Silent and Violent
The hanger was a darkness that consumed all light. An inky black that washed the room. From out of this darkness a single spark ignited. A blue flame burst to life, attacking the hull of a solitary Tachyon, sparks sprouted forth from the location of impact. It showered a man in its basking glow. His mask was as equally dark as the blackness that consumed him. The reflection of flame was seen upon a horizontal rectangular visor. “Lights,” a voice boomed from behind this mask. Doonfh, doonfh, doonfh, one by one the ceiling lights illuminated the room. The darkness was pushed back to cower in the corners as mere shadows. A young man stood by the hull of the Tachyon, welder in hand and welding mask upon his face. He dropped the welder on a workbench beside him, roughly ripping the thick, leather gloves from his hands. Fingers curled around the edges of the mask and he pulled it up to rest on his scalp.
Grey eyes adjusted to the dark fought against the light. The man known as Lysle winced, brow buried in a frown. His overalls were ridden with ash, and his jaw was outlined by the substance. His forehead held drools of sweat that worked their way down his cheeks and dripped from his chin. “Phew, it’s hot,” he exclaimed, swiping his forehead with the back of his hand. The heat on Tatooine was legendary, and even the chugging of air conditioning machines were finding it hard to keep the humid air away. Lysle was here to refit his ship. Years of service had worn on his Tachyon, and though he had pulled the ship apart and made replacements countless times, it was starting to wear on the vessel. The Fringer came to the conclusion it was time for an upgrade. Sheets of durasteel had been raised up and welded onto the ship, layer upon layer until seventy percent of the hull had achieved five extra inches of plating.
He had only two very basic goals for his Tachyon, dubbed the Red Raven; faster and stronger. While the freighter would be given military-grade weapon fittings, that was only half of making it stronger. The other half was adding the plating to the hull, something he had already achieved. Next was changing out the engines and hyperdrive, along with adding a new navigation computer. Weapons could be done last. Lysle stood there, hands on his hips as he admired his progress thus far. It was a beauty to behold. The Tachyon’s standard white spray job was replaced with a crimson coating, and the dark outlines of a raven on the starboard side. It got him to wondering as he sometimes did; whatever happened to that Rodian bounty hunter?
Lysle had come far in the galaxy, but was only a mere grain of sand in comparison to the titans of political power, the Jedi and the Sith. Those who couldn’t use the Force were rarely in the spotlight, unless you were Mandalorian of course. Even then, they had quite the number of sensitives themselves. Out here on the fringes of galactic space, it didn’t matter for who you were, you stuck together to survive. Such was the way for the Lords of the Fringe. And Lysle was one of their newest. He hopped down from the step ladder for which he had been using to make his attachments, curious as to what advice he could learn from other Fringers if he shared his plans for his Tachyon. He was sure they would have some interesting attachments in mind, but that would be for a later date.
Lysle moved towards the drawn ramp, leading up into the bowels of the vessel. He fetched a data chip from his pocket. The chip contained the required programming for the C-N:FA01 Navigational System, an upgrade for his computer. All he needed to do was slap it into the system and the chip would do the rest for him. Lysle passed down the corridor to the front of the ship, squatting by the cockpit and placing the chip into its designated slot. The nav began to boot up, data streaming down the screen. He nodded his head and began to move down the back of the ship, leaving down the ramp and out back into the hanger. One of many located in the spaceport. Private, but poorly managed, albeit cheap to rent.
Grey eyes adjusted to the dark fought against the light. The man known as Lysle winced, brow buried in a frown. His overalls were ridden with ash, and his jaw was outlined by the substance. His forehead held drools of sweat that worked their way down his cheeks and dripped from his chin. “Phew, it’s hot,” he exclaimed, swiping his forehead with the back of his hand. The heat on Tatooine was legendary, and even the chugging of air conditioning machines were finding it hard to keep the humid air away. Lysle was here to refit his ship. Years of service had worn on his Tachyon, and though he had pulled the ship apart and made replacements countless times, it was starting to wear on the vessel. The Fringer came to the conclusion it was time for an upgrade. Sheets of durasteel had been raised up and welded onto the ship, layer upon layer until seventy percent of the hull had achieved five extra inches of plating.
He had only two very basic goals for his Tachyon, dubbed the Red Raven; faster and stronger. While the freighter would be given military-grade weapon fittings, that was only half of making it stronger. The other half was adding the plating to the hull, something he had already achieved. Next was changing out the engines and hyperdrive, along with adding a new navigation computer. Weapons could be done last. Lysle stood there, hands on his hips as he admired his progress thus far. It was a beauty to behold. The Tachyon’s standard white spray job was replaced with a crimson coating, and the dark outlines of a raven on the starboard side. It got him to wondering as he sometimes did; whatever happened to that Rodian bounty hunter?
Lysle had come far in the galaxy, but was only a mere grain of sand in comparison to the titans of political power, the Jedi and the Sith. Those who couldn’t use the Force were rarely in the spotlight, unless you were Mandalorian of course. Even then, they had quite the number of sensitives themselves. Out here on the fringes of galactic space, it didn’t matter for who you were, you stuck together to survive. Such was the way for the Lords of the Fringe. And Lysle was one of their newest. He hopped down from the step ladder for which he had been using to make his attachments, curious as to what advice he could learn from other Fringers if he shared his plans for his Tachyon. He was sure they would have some interesting attachments in mind, but that would be for a later date.
Lysle moved towards the drawn ramp, leading up into the bowels of the vessel. He fetched a data chip from his pocket. The chip contained the required programming for the C-N:FA01 Navigational System, an upgrade for his computer. All he needed to do was slap it into the system and the chip would do the rest for him. Lysle passed down the corridor to the front of the ship, squatting by the cockpit and placing the chip into its designated slot. The nav began to boot up, data streaming down the screen. He nodded his head and began to move down the back of the ship, leaving down the ramp and out back into the hanger. One of many located in the spaceport. Private, but poorly managed, albeit cheap to rent.
