The figure of the captain Zane Logoth presided over the helm of the ISD Adamant's command deck. Space outside the bridge windows was awash with the winding blue storm of hyperspace, and the deck was bathed in passing shades of purple and blue. A peaceful, almost warm smile rested on the captain's face.
The senior lieutenant strode purposefully up to the captain's side, and gave him an Imperial Salute.
The captain turned his head, and slowly acknowledged his salute with a simple nod. He then turned his eyes back to the dreamlike void. "Lieutenant?" He asked, in a trance.
"Captain," The Lieutenant cleared his throat, hiding a degree of contempt for not returning the Salute, "Navigation reports that we are approximately thirty minutes away from the Barkhesh system."
"Very good." The Captain said comfortably, stirring from his peace and returning to focus, "I'll begin filing my report to Sector Group once we drop out of hyperspace."
The Lieutenant remained, his stony face marked with the usual level of suspicion and barely-disguised irritation. The Captain had known from the very moment he met Lieutenant Arlos, a fellow Coruscanti and likely alumni of Prefsbelt IV, that he had found his rival. Outwardly patriotic, arrogant and aggressive, Arlos seemed to embody the very stereotype of the typical Imperial Navy officer: a man made of discipline, and no initiative.
No level of Imperial discipline, however, could mask the Lieutenant's natural temper and impatience. One day, in this navy, that aggression might just lead to his undoing.
The Captain, hesitantly asked, "Something to say, Lieutenant?"
"The Rebels won't be in this system, they never linger after an attack." He said lowly, in a grumbling whisper, "And if they are here, they will scatter like rodents at the very sight of us."
"I'm sure the commander of the local garrison thought the same before the Rebels got away with that smuggling operation here months ago." The Captain returned back quietly, "We can't take any risks."
An amused expression quickly shot across Arlos's face. He held down a laugh. "You don't seriously believe the Rebellion would attack an Imperial Star Destroyer, do you?"
"They attacked the Death Star." The Captain said, whispering almost in sorrow. The smile on Arlos's face had left as quickly as it had come. "Hundreds of thousands of men and women died over a miscalculation that I'm not about to make." He said before turning around, raising his voice to call into the crew pits,
"I want all crews at their stations the moment we exit hyperspace. Fighter command, you have my permission to launch the recon squadron when we get to Barkhesh, and form a sentry perimeter around the ship." He turned back to Arlos, who had straightened his pose. "You are dismissed, Lieutenant."
Arlos clicked his heels and retreated back to the alcove near the back of the bridge deck, glowering as he went.
As the captain watched the Lieutenant return to his place from the corner of his eye, he once again found his mind drifting back along with space, thinking about the Salute, and how it was becoming more and more common amongst the crew and troops. COMPNOR, the political body of the New Order, blamed the loss of the Death Star on aliens who had aided the human terrorists in its destruction and, in reaction, encouraged Imperial servicemen to dole out justice to nonhuman members of the Alliance whenever captured.
He watched the pits idly, his eyes flicking over the green, blue and gray-uniformed crews below, their faces all bathed in the dull glow of their holo displays and computer screens; each one and every one, human. The New Order demanded that the bulk of the galaxy's new army be made up of human recruits, so whenever he did see the occasional nonhuman recruit—particularly the one he was concerned with- it became easy to admire them for facing adversity.
She was an Arkanian with unusual qualities such as light blue pupil coloration, which marked her as either a half-blood, or perhaps even a member of one of the sub-species minorities that had been driven off Arkania by the full-bloods during previous eras of the Old Republic. She kept her curly white hair cut short with Imperial protocol, and her snow-white skin matched the color of her Intelligence uniform. Even if it didn't mark a proper military commission, it was a uniform that marked to everyone, even him, that she was listening, and waiting to hear things like what he'd just been telling himself.
He drew on what little he knew of her race from when he was a boy on Coruscant, watching holovids that demonized the Arkanians as racists with a long history of immoral genetic research. He was sure that the videos served as lessons to be kept close to heart; warnings that people should never allow technology to change who they are, or how they were created. But when he looked around him at the Empire, with its COMPNOR rallies, humanized ranks, and even men like Lord Vader, he wondered if anyone else still held this belief too.
But it was easier for him to forget about the Imperial Salute when he looked at Encarla.
And then, suddenly, she spoke out from behind him like she already knew that.
"It's time for your interview, Captain."
"So soon?" He asked, turning around, whispering to her, his interests piqued, "I can only give you so many."
"I'll be waiting." She said again clicking her heels, those cyan eyes flashing up towards his mischievously just as she knocked her boots together.
She turned around and strode back the way she'd come, and the Captain forced himself to bring his attention away from her, and back to the helm. He then glanced down, blinked, and cringed.
The Captain sighed through his nose, held his breath, balanced up on his toes, and then returned to his military posture, arms behind his back. Then he broke to cough awkwardly into his hand, balanced his posture again, and then, finally, breathed out, and relaxed.
Most of the officers and crew down in the pits watched this performance while pretending to work. They quickly diverted their full attention back to their stations when the Captain looked down at them before heading on his way out.
"The deck is yours, Lieutenant." He called, passing by the alcove where Arlos and his officers had gathered with an IMP-series protocol droid.
"Sir." The Lieutenant nodded, clicking his heels before heading out of the alcove and returning to the helm. He took one final glance at the closing doors as the Captain left, and shook his head.
Down in the crew pits, some of the men and women stirred and muttered. Someone sneezed.
"Is the Captain a bachelor?" One of the communications technicians whispered to the other, monitoring comlink frequency readouts on his holoscreen idly.
"He's a fool." She whispered back. "It's like he doesn't even know she's ISB."
"Who knows who she is, if she's with Intel?" Their officer behind them confided in a whisper, distrusting of the nonhuman agent himself, "Hell, with all their compartments, she could be working for anyone. The fleet, our captain's friend the Moff… Even the Rebels."
"Well one thing's for certain." The first technician said pointedly to them both, "It's not the usual type of conflict between the Captain and his inspector, is it?"
Zane's spacious, lavish captain's quarters were always a testament to privileged upbringing; along with the somewhat-corrupt level perks that were given to many high-ranking Imperial officers. This time his room was a testament to the side he hid—albeit not very well—from the crew, and that was his status as a lover. Or at least, a very rich man with enough power and good looks to get with any woman who would possibly be interested his combination of those qualities.
"It's good to be a Logoth. It's certainly better than nothing." He thought wickedly, kneeling on his bed, his otherwise-standard captain's quarters bathed in a dull, soothing green overhead light.
Sweat was running down the captain's head and body. He was flushing red from head to toe, his hair sticking to his forehead with every thrash. He leant in further, going deeper, and groaned out weakly as he felt the pleasure washing over him. Sighing quietly, his breath built to ravenous gasps through his teeth, while he hit up against her.
"Oh, captain, captain, captain, captain..." She sighed back at him, rocking out after each strike, slowly clawing the sheets into shreds. She smothered her head, a sweaty mess of tangled white curls, against the pillow, trying not to collapse into the bed.
As her body faltered in pleasure, she felt Zane take her from underneath, grabbing her by his two favorite places, and going at her hard. Feeling her body thrash with his blows, she couldn't take it, and started to moan to him. Zane quickly brought one hand up to cover her mouth, but she only raised her voice under his fingers.
Her muffled moaning reached the peak of a crescendo with his quick-breathed gasps, and the two froze as Zane let loose inside of her. Arching her back and lifting herself away from the pillow, her eyes nearly crossed in bliss as she groaned out from under his hands.
He pulled out and collapsed alongside her, gasping and rasping for air. She turned to him, and began kissing him between breaths. The two danced their tongues and writhed together, until instinct had faded, and profession returned. Still, in the warm afterglow, the two laid together, arms wrapped, and eyes locked.
"You know," He smiled, "I should really be on the deck. That or writing my damn report, not yours." He asked, relaxing in the pleasure.
"Well how else would I find out about the mission?" Encarla asked, slowly sliding up against him. "There's so much many things you wouldn't want the crew to see… " She said, walking her fingers up his chest. "Or, even know?"
Zane stared at her, almost distantly, as she ran her hand up the back of his head.
Encarla suddenly paused and glared off in another direction, looking almost angry at herself for being so honest. "Captain?" She leaned in quickly, taking his hand and placing bringing it towards her chest. "Come on..."
Instead, his hand found its way to her head, where he split a sweat-slickened curl of hair back over her ear. She suddenly swatted his hand away.
Zane spoke up, looking confused. "What 'mission'? It's a peacekeeping run. We park this Hutt-sized battleship over the planet's orbit until the local resistance soils themselves, send our regards with a few parting shots, and then it's on to Manpha." He went on. "I want them to be ready-that's common sense. But do I expect a joint Rogue Squadron and space slug attack? No." He said, chuckling and shaking his head.
"So, that's why you're still here?" She asked again. "You're not actually concerned?"
"It's not that I'm not concerned, it's just that I get distracted." Zane smirked at her warmly. "Don't you?"
Encarla looked at him, the warmth in her eyes withering away, "I'm just doing my work, captain."
"Don't you ever forget about your work?" He asked.
"That would be treason."
"You think I'm that empty? A phantom?" He asked, laughing again, a bit more sadly, "Who would I tell?"
"It's not who you'd tell, Captain." She answered, sliding away from him and sitting over her edge of the bed. "It's what you'd think."
"You do know me, then." He said, getting up and sitting over his own end of the bed. "You know me."
A young, excited voice crept up over the doorway intercom. "Captain, sir?"
"What?" Zane spat back at the voice, looking for his socks.
"It's the Rebels." The voice said, almost stammering. "The Lieutenant says the situation demands your attention, he's requested your presence on the bridge."
Suddenly the two both sprung to action and scrambled to gather their clothes off the floor.
"Get to your post." He told her, tossing his effects and equipment onto the bed.
"I advise you do the same, Captain." She said back, stuffing her clothes between her arms.
The Captain hurried down the hall, fumbling with the collar button of his green uniform tunic as he went. All around him, squads of black-clad naval troopers and officers hurried down the corridors in neat lines led by mouse droids. The wailing, low-pitch echo of the ship's warning klaxon baled through the halls.
Just as the Captain saw the turbolift entry at the end of the hall, Arlos's voice came on over the ship intercom, "Attention all crew. Rebel forces have been sighted in the system. Code level red. Man your stations, and await ship orders. All crew, man your stations. All flight groups, man your stations. "
Ensign Ajax, the young officer who had buzzed his room was now standing at attention, patiently waiting for him at the doorway to the turbolift. Zane saluted the Ensign quickly as he approached the lift.
"Where are the rest of the officers?" He asked Ajax as they hurried into the lift, the doors quickly sliding shut behind them.
"Waiting for you upstairs, sir." The Ensign answered politely, keying in the level code on the call plate, "They have been requesting your presence ever since we came out of hyperspace about five minutes ago. Isn't your room intercom working?"
The Captain's first thought was, "I wouldn't have muted the frizzing thing if I actually known…", but he knew that wouldn't do.
"I was…" He said instead, switching his gloves back onto the right hands, and then straightening his command cap, "Distracted."
The Ensign shrugged, as if his excuse was completely, and unquestionably acceptable.
Zane, relieved to think of something other than Encarla, turned his mind to the coming battle at hand. At least these struggles didn't involve women. Or, at least, not ones he was trying to romance…
"Sir?" The Ensign asked, noticing his officer's growing puzzlement during the silent turbolift ride.
"It's strange, ensign." He asked, stroking his chin, "If it's an ambush, why didn't they open fire from the moment we exited lightspeed?"
The Ensign shrugged once more. "A miscalculation on their part, perhaps?"
"I don't know," The Captain answered, "But I've got a bad feeling about this."
When the turbolift doors slid open, Captain Logoth had stepped into a completely different room than the one he had left forty-five minutes ago. The view out the bridge window was swallowed by the great shrouded green marble of Barkhesh, and superimposed against the planet's surface was an organized flight of dots: the approaching rebel fleet. Imperial drill and profession could not hide the crew's nervousness—they had been caught alone, outnumbered and far away from help.
Crewers in both pits were near-frantic at their controls, and their officers hung over their progresses intently. At the center of the bridge helm Arlos and his senior-ranking officers had gathered, and were hovering over a large glowing holographic display of the situation outside the ship. Multiple Rebel Dreadnaughts, screened by smaller craft, appeared to be forming a battle line on the tactical map.
Arlos, coolly examining the map with his hands tied behind his back, lifted his eyes from the display to the Captain, and smiled ironically as he and the rest of the crew stood firm.
"At ease." Logoth ordered, hurrying towards the map before stopping to scrutinize the map, Ajax following in toe.
"Captain." Arlos said with openly sarcastic friendliness, "Sorry to disturb your report, but it turns out you were correct. The rebels truly are here, and are coming right for us." Arlos waved his hand over the forming line of Alliance ships.
"We expect them to employ a, " He snorted, "believe it or not, conventional attack from—"
Suddenly, the holographic appearance of the dreadnaughts began to glitch and become grainy. Arlos began poking at one of the virtual ships furiously.
The Lieutenant glared at the interface, grumbling under his breath. "What the deuce? If this is performance issues again I'll have their heads in carbonite," He growled through his teeth before shouting into the starboard crew pit, "Technicians!"
"It's not the holomap, sir!" The Communications officer down at the sensor scan station reported, "It's everything! Sensors, comms, everything's out!"
"Communications, did you manage to send anything before the attack?" Zane asked the man.
"Negative sir, sorry sir." The man answered, his crewers scouring over the controls behind him, "The Rebs must've started jamming our primary systems the second we made contact. Holonet channels, subspace frequencies, they're all static now."
Suddenly the ship lurched, and the crew stumbled to regain their balance.
"We're on our own, then. We'll have to send all orders via computer signal." Logoth said, coming back up to his feet and turning towards the bridge window to assess the situation. "What's our deflector shield status?"
"Fully operational, sir, that shot was just to probe us." He heard the shield officer call back. "Deflector shield power should hold until they close to mauling range."
"And face the full brunt of our defenses?" Arlos asked. "They would be foolish to try."
"Try to find the source of the jamming signal." Logoth called over him.
"Captain, permission to-" Communications suggested,
"Speak freely!" Zane shouted, not taking his eyes off the battle. "We're not on parade here."
"Thanks sir," The man said over his breath before resuming, "The terrorists probably got a short-range jammer aboard one of their capital ships. My guess is the Mon Cal."
The Captain quickly scrutinized the oncoming Rebel fleet. Arlos joined him, and pointed towards a gap in their lines, where one distant cruiser—a small, oddly-configured MC40 was being picketed by the other Dreadnaughts and their escorts; mostly smaller Corellian-built corvettes.
"Yes, it has to be that one, the one they're screening." Arlos said, turning to Logoth. "We have to scramble the fighters."
"Agreed." Logoth nodded, bellowing back towards the pit, "Fighter Command, launch everything you've got! Find and destroy that jammer! Weapons, open fire immediately as the enemy enters maximum effective range. Try to saturate their vectors with turbolaser fire so they can't flank us."
"Yes sir!" Fighter command answered in unison with the battery director.
"Take her in full," Zane ordered helm control, "We have to break out of the encirclement."
The Captain and Lieutenant returned their gaze to the view out of the deck, and over the long wedge of the ship's superstructure. The ship rocked steadily as the turbolasers opened fire, their plasma trails speeding out for the rebel ships through a sudden storm of fire. Through that storm, the red bolts of the Rebel ships came in return, glancing in blue ripples off the front of the ship's shields.
"The Rebels have superior fighters," Zane confided to Arlos as he watched the battle unfold, a nervous look on his face. "I hope the TIEs can get through."
"They will, Captain." Arlos said, folding his arms behind his back. "They must."