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Squeezing into the small cockpit was always a chore, however, Lraawl enjoyed flying enough that he was able to ignore the discomfort. While being inside a ship didn’t quite match the exhilaration of riding a Mosgoth, the Mosgoth couldn’t take him off planet to play amongst the stars, which made the too-small seats in this tin can a little more tolerable. There were few enough Togorians that cared enough to learn the art of flinging a metal object through air and space, yet even so, the task of dropping off and picking up F’laarian Candidates was a rare and great honor for Lrawwl.
Since the Mandalorian War, Togorians had sent their best and brightest young warriors out into the Galaxy. The sudden attack Togoria had suffered at the hands of Mandalore had proven quickly that it was not enough to shun technology and the Galaxy at large. A quiet, unsophisticated target would always be seen as fair game for any passing predator. Though they fought the invaders to a stand still, and eventually joined their doomed crusade, the cost in lives had been immense.
Now, the F’laarian Clan worked to make sure that there were always elite fighters wise in the ways of the Galaxy. A small but effective spy network kept the Elders informed of Galactic trends, and ears were always tuned to any sounds of conflict or war that might affect Togoria. Warriors were selected from the ranks of youths, made familiar with advanced weapons and technology, and trained to act as an elite fighting force - able to defend the homeworld, or attack enemies across the Galaxy at need.
As far as the Clan was concerned, the only way to become effective at advanced combat was to fight for keeps. Training for war ultimately required the practice of war itself. For F’laarians, the trademark sense of honor most Togorians were born with was forged as hard as durasteel as they experienced first-hand the treachery and deceit of the Galaxy at large. The strategy, however, was not without risk to those that would add the title of F’laar after their tribal name.
Having nearly finished cramming himself into the too-tight seat, Lraawl paused his exertions for a moment when his eyes, already scanning the instrument panel, caught Mrrowl’s rapidly retreating form on one of the rear facing viewscreens. The young Togorian was still double-timing it towards the terminal building, his head movements already showing that he was scanning for threats. Leaning in and squinting, the pilot noticed that the young Candidate’s ears were firmly locked backwards on the ship. Lraawl’s scarred face softened a moment as he recalled his own lonely walk as a green Candidate on a strange planet.
First checking to make sure the cockpit door was secure, he looked over at his Co-Pilot/Engineer, Friiir F’laar, and shook his head for a moment. “I’m not quite sure what the Elders had in mind when they ordered us to drop Mrrowl off here. We haven’t successfully sent a Candidate to this planet for almost 30 years. The last two were never heard from again, and I’m not even sure if we’ll get out of this system unmolested.”
Friiir punched a few more buttons, continuing to work through the checklist. Nodding to himself as the last two red colored No Takeoff warnings disappeared from the screen, he glanced at Lraawl a moment before returning his attention to the instruments. “I suppose the Elders know best. The last successful Candidate they sent here ended up Captaining a starship did he not?”
“And they’re related, yes.” Lraawl reluctantly conceded. “Still, the creatures that live here are completely without honor in a way that even shocks most offworlders, and I’m not sure just what Mrrowl will learn amongst them.” Securing a kneeboard that contained his own checklist items to his leg, he added under his breath, “Or even if he’ll survive the experience.”
Friiir chuckled, making certain that the dorsal and ventral dual turbo-lasers were fully powered inside their concealed alcoves. “If anyone can survive amongst these traitorous scum, I have a feeling that particular cub can pull it off.”
“I hope you’re right. “Lraawl replied. “Should he figure this test out, he’ll be a great asset to the Clan. He may even become an Elder in time.”
The pilot’s chair gave a few squeaks of protest as Lraawl finally settled fully into it, and the big cat began the final checks and callouts for departure over the growing whine that was being emitted by the awakening engines. Giving the rear monitor a final wistful look, he punched the drive ignition stud. Belching a cloud of noxious fumes that rolled across the scarred duracrete, harassing the dust devils and their bright chaotic cargo, the light freighter eased off of its struts to hover for a moment before clawing its way into the sky with a basso roar.
In the small cargo bay, five sets of ears resumed their twitching, canting at various angles to capture the creaks and muffled bangs of gear and equipment shifting under acceleration, the Candidates once again filled with apprehension about where their next stop would be.
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