Deep Spoilers
May 26, 2006
Page 1
By Ryder Windham; Illustration by Ole Sørensen.
A Gungan danced at the starting line, frantically waving a fan of translucent opee fins. The crowd roared within the great bubble of the Otoh Gunga Garden; muting the engines of thirty-two bongo subs as they blasted out of their pens and gurgled onto the water track.
The Otoh Gunga Challenge was open to anyone with a single-engine sub that could achieve a speed of at least 100 longos, fast enough to outrun a klaa fish on its best day. Weapons were not allowed, and military subs were prohibited unless they had been decommissioned. Beyond that, the rules were as wide open as an opee's eyes.
The contending subs had varied designs, but all were rigged for speed. Some were organically engineered monobubbles, with single hydrostatic field canopies to protect the cockpits. Others were the more prevalent tribubbles, with their port and starboard compartments sealed and flooded. This left the "blinded" sub with only the forward cockpit bubble, enabling the power unit to direct more energy to the electromotive field generators. Some cockpits carried three Gungans, but most contained a single pilot.
The bongos sped out of the launch pool and into the half-kilometer-long water-filled race tube that wrapped around lower interior of the Otoh Gunga Garden. The race tube led to a portal that emptied into Lake Paonga, where the race would continue. Commanding the early lead was the Opee Fleer, a decommissioned military sub with a crew of three. Compared to the sleeker designs, it was a cumbersome vessel that needed to slow down to make the sharper turns, but its breadth made it difficult for other subs to pass it in the narrow race tube. Pursuing the Opee Fleer were three blinded monobubbles piloted by Tup Tup Grizbain, Friggy Squig, and Zak "Squidfella" Quiglee. After them came the purple custom-grown monobubble bongo helmed by Brooboo Seep, the oldest pilot in the race and favored by many on the Rep Council.
The first five subs tore through the portal and into the dark waters of Lake Paonga. Spectators in Otoh Gunga Garden quickly redirected their eyes to the large orb-shaped monitors suspended from the arena bubble's ceiling, but others kept their gaze on two subs that were still heading for the portal, operated by Spleed Nukkels and Neb Neb Goodrow.
Humming to herself as she weaved past a broad-bellied bongo, Spleed Nukkels felt downright cozy in her blue blinded monobubble, with its distinctive elongated forward diving plane. Her wake flipped the broad-bellied bongo into a roll, spinning it toward the green, custom monobubble bongo hounding her tail. In the green bongo, Neb Neb Goodrow was chewing on a stick of gimer bark. Neb Neb's bongo had a bulked-up engine with rotating, clipped electromotive fins that allowed for tight turns. Certainly it was not the design of these two bongos that captivated spectators; rather, it was the reckless manner in which the two Gungans steered them.
As Spleed and Neb Neb accelerated through the race tube, other bongos got out of their way. By the time they reached the portal for Lake Paonga, they were traveling side by side and had left a dangerously churning wake behind them. While the trailing bongos slowed to navigate through the swirling bubble trail, Spleed and Neb Neb bolted after the leading subs.
Early in their racing careers, Spleed and Neb Neb had been accused of collusion by their competitors. Working together to ram or drive other bongos off course was not allowed in any official competition. These accusations ended after race officials reviewed recordings of the two in action, and determined that Spleed and Neb Neb were indeed competing against each another. The problem was that they weren't competing with anyone else. As Spleed had been widely quoted, "Mesa racen Neb Neb Goodrow. Everybody else just inda way."
Not surprisingly, several bongo racers had submitted requests to have Neb Neb and Spleed banned from the sport. The common gripe was that they were too reckless, that they had given the sport a bad name. Squidfella Quiglee stressed that unless officials revised the rules of the game, it was only a matter of time before Neb Neb and Spleed's breakneck antics got somebody pasted. Responding to Squidfella's accusations, Spleed commented that any racer who worried about getting pasted should stay at home. Neb Neb laughed, adding, "Squidfella's got mesa un Spleed all wrongo. Mabee wesa lookee reckless, boot it taken a lotta skill to blast past da otter racers un let dem live."
Squidfella Quiglee had gone so far as to file official charges, cosigned by his fellow whiners, Tup Tup Grizbain and Friggy Squig. Unfortunately for the disgruntled trio, the charges were tossed out by the Gungan race commissioner and never reached the Rep Council.
The Opee Fleer maintained its lead and was the first bongo to reach the buoy making a confident, wide turn before heading for the next transport tube, a floating construct tethered to the lake floor. The tube had a larger diameter than the one in Otoh Gunga Garden, and its five-kilometer length spiraled downward along the continental slope to the water-filled underwaterways below Lake Paonga. Dozens of orb-shaped remote-seein devices floated beside the transparent tube, ready to broadcast images of the race to the spectators in Otoh Gunga Garden.
With a great burst of speed, the Opee Fleer shot into the transparent tube, followed by Squidfella, Tup Tup, and Friggy. Seconds later, Brooboo Seep's bongo entered the tube. Brooboo had his eyestalks trained on the tail of Friggy's craft when Neb Neb's green bongo shot underneath him, its wake propelling Brooboo toward the tube's ceiling. Brooboo pushed down hard on his controls, sending his craft into an angled dive. Spleed's blinded monobubble soared over his canopy and forced him to execute a tight roll to avoid collision. As Brooboo straightened out and watched Spleed's blue bongo zoom ahead of him, he realized he was holding his breath. He sucked in some air, briefly wondered whether he should retire from bongo racing, then stomped on the accelerator. Spleed shot past Neb Neb and came up fast behind Friggy She did not have to look at her navigation sensor field indicator to know that Neb Neb was right behind her and would try to overtake her before reaching the end of the tube. Even if she had looked at her sensor, it would have been of little use, since it was still broken from the last race. In front of Spleed, Friggy was maintaining a long twisty, steering his sub through a controlled roll in an effort to prevent Spleed from passing him.
"Tube hog," Spleed muttered, then sped forward, aiming for Friggy's fins.
Seated in his spectator box in the Otoh Gunga Garden bubble, Boss Nass grinned as the bongos -- visible on the Garden's large monitors -- careened through the race tube in Lake Paonga. However, the ruler of Otoh Gunga was not looking at the monitors but at the gathered crowd. Naturally, many of them were, like himself, Gungan bongo racing fans, but there was also a new element to the audience.
Tourists.
And not just the human population of Naboo, although they were well represented in Otoh Gunga Garden that night. Boss Nass had to admit that he would have had difficulty distinguishing one humanoid species from the next were it not for their clothes. In his eyes, the Naboo dressed better.
Since the Battle of Naboo, word had spread of the courageous and resourceful people that had crushed the Neimoidian Trade Federation. Although Boss Nass was immensely pleased and proud of his alliance with the humans of Naboo, he was even more delighted by the countless representatives of Republic planets who had contacted him personally, requesting visits to Otoh Gunga and audience with the Boss who commanded the Grand Gungan Army. With great discretion, Boss Nass had asked around about whether Theed had received as many requests from outlaunders. If the information he had gained were true, Otoh Gunga was definitely the more popular destination.
That was the first page. I'll post the rest tomorrow, just heading to bed.
And here's a picture of a Gungan sub:
I'm not actually that tired so here's:
Kella Rand, Reporting...
December 02, 2005
Page 1
Kella Rand, Reporting...
By Laurie Burns Illustrated by Robert Duchlinski
Just when Kella was sure the leader of the Indu San system was going to vote "no" to an alliance with the New Republic, he went and blew up instead.
Literally.
Sheer surprise momentarily froze her in place as security sirens began to blare and a cloud of hovercams whirred overhead, resembling a flock of electronic birds as they converged on the smoking ruin. Then her news sense snapped back as the media gallery erupted and reporters scrambled to get to the Council Chamber below, where what remained of Shek Barayel was sprawled against his chair. Pandemonium prevailed as hovercams circled overhead, recording every grisly detail.
Surveying the chaotic scene, Kella tried to suppress an unbecoming thrill of satisfaction. She'd been with the Galactic News Network long enough to know that murder was almost always more interesting than politics, and while an assassination wasn't the story she'd set out to cover, it would certainly do.
Though for the sake of her audience's sensitivities, she'd try not to look like she enjoyed it too much.
She'd been on Indu San two weeks, yawning through the endless speeches and diplomatic wrangling leading up to today's big vote. All eyes had been on Barayel, for though the entire Indu Council voted, theirs was merely an advisory role. The chief councilor, like the Imperial governor he'd replaced, was the one whose word was ultimately law.
The problem was, no one knew where he stood on this alliance issue. Though most of the council seemed to support it, he'd been maddeningly reticent through the diplomatic talks, hadn't taken the floor at all during the council debates, and had curtly declared "no comment" when questioned by reporters. The New Republic ambassador, Dictio L'varren, seemed to take it in stride like the seasoned negotiator he was, but for the media, the story so far was a crashing bore.
Barayel's actions had all the characteristics of another Outer Rim system poised to decline an invitation to join the New Republic. Not that newsworthy -- neutrality and a healthy respect for the Imperials still active in the sector were much too common for reporters to get excited about.
But throw in a little murder and mayhem, and newsnets across the galaxy would be snapping the story up.
Digging out her comlink, Kella keyed in the frequency for the local GNN bureau and fairly leapt on Bureau Chief Robbe Nostler when he answered.
"Hold the newsdroid!" she told him, shouting to make herself heard over the uproar echoing through the stone Council Chamber. "We've got a hot one! Barayel's just been assassinated!"
"What?" Nostler asked. "When?"
"Assassinated. At the Council Hall. Just now!" she said. "Turn on the holovid and take a look -- the local stations should be carrying it." Holding the comlink to her ear, she heard the noise magnified on the other end as Nostler turned on the bureau's holovid and caught a live report transmitted by one of the in-system stations.
The story would have instantly hit all of the planetwide newscasts, but galactic reporters like her had to wait for their newsnets' courier droid to drop into the system, upload the local bureau's reports, then zip back into hyperspace to carry them further down the line for dissemination galaxy-wide. Fleetingly she envied the ease and immediacy with which reporters in the past had filed their stories on the HoloNet, but it was long gone and now only the couriers with their dratted timelags remained.
"That looks hot all right," Nostler said after watching the holovid a moment. "Can you confirm if Barayel's really dead?"
"Oh yeah, he's dead," Kella assured him, grimacing at the sight below. "Darn messy way to go, too." Watching a dazed counselor get cornered by a reporter wielding a recording rod, she was reminded of the business at hand. "So hey," she demanded. "When does the courier show up? I don't want to get scooped on this."
"It'll be tight," Nostler warned. "Newsdroid's due in later tonight, but so is TriNebulon News'. First in the system, first out with the story, Kell."
She scowled. There was no way she was going to get scooped by TriNeb -- that sleazy excuse for a newsnet -- just because its courier showed up first. With its slant towards the sensational, TriNeb's reporters could make even the dullest debate sound interesting, if not quite accurate. She hated to think how they'd blow this whole thing up. She told him so, adding, "You keep an eye on the local reports, and I'll follow things down here. Call me if you hear anything good."
"Right," Nostler said, and signed off, but Kella wasn't listening. Below, a squad of Council Authority officers had arrived and were attempting to restore some sort of order to the chaos. Blasters drawn and bellowing orders, they cleared a path to the late chief councilor, herding his horrified colleagues to the sides of the chamber and forcing back the pack of overeager reporters as well.
But what caught her attention was the sight of a man slipping out a small door on the far side of the chamber, followed by one of the blue-uniformed officers. Recognizing Tev Aden, she raised an eyebrow, wondering what the authorities wanted with Ambassador L'varren's aide.
Scanning the crowded chamber below, she found the New Republic diplomat huddled in conversation with several Indu councilors, clearly too involved to have noticed Aden's departure, or be aware he was apparently being detained. Indeed, between the shouting of the authorities, the anxious babble of the councilors, and the gruesome spectacle at the head table that kept them all riveted, no one at all seemed to have noticed the two men slipping out. From her spot in the media gallery, Kella had the best view in the room, and her nose for news whispered that it just might be worth investigating.
Taking the gallery stairs two at a time, she activated the beckon call for her hovercam. A transponder in the comlink would tell the hovercam where to find her, and she hoped it would hurry. Downstairs, word of the assassination was making its way through the government building and council aides, functionaries and bureaucrats clogged the corridor trying to get in the chamber so they could see their slain leader.
More authorities arrived, adding to the confusion. Kella weaved through the crush, trying to reach the side corridor where Aden had disappeared. Traffic thinned considerably when she reached the corner, and she paused to glance back for her hovercam, relieved to see it emerge through the main chamber door and float towards her above the sea of bobbing heads.
She headed briskly down the hall with the hovercam whirring at her shoulder, but as she approached the door Aden had slipped out of, it swung open and a burly Authority Officer with a short haircut and an even curter disposition stepped out and blocked her way.
"This section's being sealed," he said, ignoring the bright yellow media badge clearly visible on the front of her vest. "I've got orders to clear the hall."
"Kella Rand, Galactic News Network," she said, tapping the badge anyway and glancing impatiently past him down the corridor. Another 15 meters away, it intersected with another hall, from which there was an exit leading to the hall's south portico and the city streets beyond. "I've got media clearance, and I need to get through."
I'll post some more next week.