emile fischer

Löptr: An Ember in a Glacier

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That evening, the thousand lights of the Smugglers' Moon lit up space like a beacon lost in the galaxy. A very special evening had been going on for a good two hours already: the Jour de Vie ball was taking place on the two flying barges on the Promenade, the Grand Casino was celebrating the occasion by offering alcoholic drinks at ridiculous prices, and all the cantinas remained open until the next day. All but one.

The Day of Life. This day when businesses prospered, old friends found themselves, and when even the prisoners were entitled to a more "correct" meal than usual. This wookiee tradition was celebrated across the galaxy, but the Empire, except for the vast majority of its people, refused to take a liking to it. The day of the year when all the men drank as much as they had fun, and all the women played with their children. All but one.

A party not far from 1500 centuries old, that was something. A day of giving gifts, decorating streets and apartments, and having snowball fights. Trees, holographic or not, colored the gloomy alleys and the luxurious palaces. Coruscant workers in Tatooine weren't working or going home early. Even the elites of the Republic took pleasure in it. All but one.

Lying on her back, on the counter of the Great Ember Room, Löptr had been staring at the ceiling for a good forty minutes already, her hands on her stomach, listening to the noise outside. The cantina had been closed all day, and was planning on staying closed all night…not the best place to celebrate Life Day and come out alive anyway. Although all weapons were confiscated in this co-ed cantina - meaning a place of "temporary peace" for Imperials and Republicans - fights, bottle-cuttings and forks in the eye were common. It was more the place to spy on the enemy sitting on the next table, or to smuggle between factions... while having a drink.

Löptr did not close his eyes. She was just staring at the same point on the ceiling, hearing the music in the distance without listening to the words. She wore, as usual, her war armor. It was quite comfortable for armor, ordinary weight, a layer of foam between metal and skin, shimmering reflections. She only took it off rarely, for special occasions or invitations, and of course to sleep, wash, etc... She had no particular or personal value in her eyes. She had had several armors and battle outfits before, but this one was the most comfortable to wear.

BOOM  !

And here are the first fireworks... awesome. You guessed it, the mirialan didn't like parties.

She shifted slowly on the counter like someone coming out of a coma, opened her mouth in slow motion, and dropped her right arm from the bar. A small, long glass cylinder slipped out of his hand and danced on the floor near its metal cap.

A few minutes later, the soldier finally got up. Scanning the room as if looking for an intruder, she walked away from the bar and towards the stairs. The Braise was silent inside, but the muffled cries and the muted musical notes outside invaded the mirialan. Climbing heavily, step by step, the West stairs, the now 37-year-old soldier used the wall to help her move forward. Leaning on the casino table, she wobbled a little more before she reached the door. Arrived in front of her room, Löptr knocked on the automatic door, often jammed, which opened. She went to sit on the end of her bed, shook her head from side to side, and looked down at the wall to her left, battered by fatigue.

Zorah...

The mirialan who destroyed her life when she was 12. Now his corpse, cryogenized in carbonite, decorated the wall of his room. Löptr lowered his head, closed his eyes, and thought back to his childhood.

Balmorrah. A land where no child should be born in times of war. It was under the fires of the Empire that she had come into the world. When he came, his parents had finally decided to leave this hell for a safer place. The family had therefore taken refuge in Chandrila, but had to move repeatedly to the capital, then to neighboring towns. When his father finally found a position in the Republic army, the family was able to settle down. Two years later, when Löptr was approaching his 7th birthday, the father took a shell on Alderaan. No funeral, but lots of tears. This changed the mother, who began to drink, scream and cry. Then came the first days of college... and then, Zora.

Löptr jerked his head up and roared as he leapt toward the carbonite block. In a flash, she pulled out the knife attached to her boot and stuck it in the carbon navel. She glared at her sworn enemy with her scarlet eyes, panting like a wild animal, mouth wide open, then slowly rested her forehead against the cold block.

To think that this schutta hadn't even recognized her in the army. That was why she joined. To find her, make her pay. And then over time, once her revenge had been sated with a good, well-placed cannon shot, she had decided to stay. Yeah, killing to live wasn't so bad. It paid well, it let off steam,... it soothed...

A slight current of air enters the room, disturbs the tranquility of the curtains, and caresses the biceps of poor mirialan who shudders like a chickadee discovering the snow for the very first time. One of the windows was left open. Randa... fool! Years of working at the Braise and she still forgot those annoying little things. Too bad. Löptr did not move. She stood there, clutching the gold and silver knife, staring at the raw carbonite.

The ex-Republic Major finally made up his mind to extract the nagai blade from the fossilized belly, and let it fall to the ground. A long metallic disturbance echoed through the halls of the cantina, then a heavy silence resumed. You couldn't even hear the fireworks anymore, the screams and the laughter outside. Just a long, long silence...

Another long dead moment passed, then the woman raised her head, a look displaying a semblance of determination on her face. She left the room, descended the long steps, walked through the great hall, through the lower casino, and finally entered the East terrace. There she kicked off her boots, tucking her heels under her toes, lifted one leg, and balanced on the barrier separating the terrace from the rest of Nar Shaddaa.

The night was beautiful, the sky was purple, the Promenade colorful as ever, and the whole city full of joy. The clouds posed for all to see, between the smiling city and silent space. Up there, Nal Hutta the giantess covered her little moon as a sister covers her youngest. All things were in their place. All but one.

Facing the spectacle and with his back to the past, Löptr closed his eyes, opened his arms, and let himself be tilted towards infinity.