Articles

Grozchiir: Adventures of a Madclaw (Part 1)

In Uncategorized on 2008-03-19 by Kyle Maxwell

PRESENT DAY
CORPORATE SECTOR – IN SPACE

The hum of the shuttle could be felt throughout the ship. Grozchiir sat in his cell, glaring at the walls out of sheer spite. For the last decade, he’d endured one indignity after another at the Imperial School for Exotic Languages, and this unannounced transfer just infuriated him more. When they’d tranquilized him in his cell back on the asteroid base, he’d woken on board this ship with no information as to where they were headed. He was just an animal, after all.

The SHOOSH! of the door into the cell area announced the entry of the caretaker. He might be an animal, but he was worth something and so they at least kept him fed; the caretakers back at the School were very precise and efficient at every aspect of their job. A low growl in his throat elicited the briefest of grins from the old human.

“You’ll not threaten me, beast. Time for your feeding and supplements.” Inserting his rank cylinder into the control panel, the cell door opened… and Groz saw one chance. Clearly this human wasn’t accustomed to guarding a Wookiee — he’d left both doors open and his hands were full of equipment.

Snarling, the striped Wookiee leapt forward. The cuffs on his wrists did nothing to restrain his claws, and the guard gurgled on the blood surging out of his throat. The pain in his eyes brought no sympathy from Groz as he fumbled with the cylinder to unlock his cuffs. Noticing that the guard was still struggling to breathe, the Wookiee smote him in the chest, caving it in and ending the officer’s attempt to live.

Only a few moments remained before someone from the small crew on the shuttle came back to investigate the noise. Casting about frantically for something useful, Grozchiir found nothing and thus rushed out of the cell block without so much as a glance behind him.

The cockpit door was sealed, but with his newfound tool, he found that it presented no difficulty. With their backs to him, the two pilots and the communications operator never had a chance. Detaching the arms from one of the pilots, he flailed about wildly. After a few moments, the three humans lay on the deck, victims of the madclaw’s rage.

Grozchiir attempted to insert himself into the provided seats to no avail, as they had not been engineered for beings of his size. Ripping one out of the deck, he cast it aside and ignored the sparking from the now-severed control connections.

Many years of captivity had passed since he’d last been at the controls of a ship, and piloting was never his forte. Still, he’d acquired enough understanding of written Basic to interpret the controls and managed to set a course for the Outer Rim. He’d not concede his newfound freedom easily.

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