Armitage's eyes lingered on the red flickering lights of the sensors on the ceiling above his bed. There was the iridescent black lens of the camera, the humming of the heating and ventilation mechanisms, the consistent design of the fixtures which made each chamber feel like one and the same, regardless of which spacecraft he was stationed on. Indiscernible words and the sound of footsteps were occasionally carried to him through the heavy walls, yet rarely would they disturb his rest. With the years that had gone by, all of these elements had become part of the familiar, almost comfortable, background.
When he laid down and turned off all but the high urgency communications, Hux still felt as though he were a being within a hive, a scattered organism forever active and alive – each infinitesimal entity taking its allotted time to rest and to work, ensuring that the sum of its parts remained in ceaseless motion, never wavering it its influence.
It was the star that had disturbed his peace. Four days had passed by, nevertheless he found himself thinking about it, dwelling on it, unable to fall asleep. The habitual ambience of the chamber appeared to him then as irksome and cold, its metallic walls felt like a storage capsule, keeping him in, rather than keeping out the remote figures before whom he was always on ceremony, on alert to their interpretation of his every word and action.
It had been by chance that he had first glimpsed the star on the navigator screen, a moment of idle curiosity, a star like thousands of others scattered across the galaxy. A floating unknown world, highlighted upon the device as a place uncharted and nameless, yet capable of sustaining life. He had long prided himself on what had been the result of much labor; he himself had taken on the task of ensuring that the map files and databases which fed the navigation systems of the First Order were as accurate and exhaustive as generous funds and resourcefulness could manage.
More than the gap in the quality of the system, Hux was disconcerted by a thread of fancy which drew his agitated thoughts like a magnet toward that ambiguous entity within the vastness of space. N412.
Rising from his bed, the general approached the sink and turned on the faucet, allowing the cold water to pour into his cupped hands. He gazed vacantly at the pallid face staring back at him with sleepless eyes, finding it strange how he could rarely form a definite recollection of himself in the absence of the image standing before him. Armitage felt mildly repulsed by the sight of the disheveled hair; the perpetually severe expression of the lips, which seemed to curl only into a smile of derision, and rarely for the sort of careless joy that he imagined grazed other faces belonging to less neurotic minds; the thin, almost adolescent figure, unmasked from the dignity of his uniform, it too dissatisfied him – as though declaring his inexperience in the primal shows of dominance manifested on battlefields.
As each of these aspects fell into focus under the dim light of the claustrophobic room, the study of his reflection made his heart churn with the growing wish which had been formulating since the strange obsession first took hold of him. Was it a form of madness? He washed his face with the cold water, as though the act itself would wash away the deficient image, the strange fixation, or at the very least, the sleeplessness which boded to interfere with his half-formed ambition.
N412. Tonight, I will leave tonight, so Armitage spoke in barely a whisper. His eye instinctively flickered again to the camera lens above, as was his wont when his thoughts took an unorthodox turn. When the order of the hive appeared more despotic than efficient, having more in it of a man-made purgatory than a utopia for the man of reason.
Such madmen's schemes would bloom at night and fade by morning.
With false bravado, he would convince himself that, living or dead, he would nonetheless escape. Yet the alerts, orders, and duties which awaited him on the morrow were often enough to quench rebellious resolutions. The barrage of demands upon his time was an effective balm for his ego – he was too important to leave, too useful, he would come to it later, think of it later. Surely his training and capacities were well suited to his environment, unlike the world outside of the First Order, which would hardly welcome him with open arms.
Hux dressed quickly, almost carelessly, only stopping himself in time as he was about to open the door of his chamber. He paused, his hand hovering over the glowing green button, taking a deep breath – arranging the first threads of a plan. The door opened and the general stepped into the empty hall of the spacecraft. In the distance he heard the marching of boots. They turned down the hall and saw him. Armitage foresaw them scanning his masked expression – and he their opaque black and white helmets, each regarding the other as another somber automaton. General Hux walked briskly past, his hands behind his back. By some instinct he believed that it was integral to show no sign of nervousness or hesitation, to move with a determined purpose. He knew his destination and the fastest route to it.
What if they asked questions? Would they dare? He did not trust in his abilities to speak an outright lie other than in feigning complacent obedience, having learnt the scope of his capacities from previous experience. Additionally, he had no satisfactory alibi premeditated for why he was leaving on an unscheduled mission into space alone. He then thought of the most simple solution to dealing with interferences – yet even violence came with its complications, and certainly, its consequences.
It would not be simple. How could it be simple, to just leave the First Order?
Before he had fully apprehended how it had occurred, Hux discovered that he had passed by the guards at the gates to the where the flight vessels awaited him. Nothing, no were questions asked, no answers given. They stepped aside for General Hux, for surely his authority was sufficient to allow him to pass throughout the ship un-harassed by menials. With supercilious satisfaction, he acknowledged that it was the anxiety of a guilty conscience that made him doubt his own authority, for even then he had not yet decided upon the extent of guilt which he would be willing to incur.
Was he leaving for a few hours, a few days, or weeks, or was it – could it really be, permanently?
The general reassured himself that there was little reason to fear. He would return by morning and resume his duties. He would give a full account of the star to whomever might require it, for there was no dishonor in a simple scouting mission. Perhaps it might contain valuable metal ore, perhaps, his thoughts trailed on, he could explain with reason what could be termed as nothing other than the force of madness.
The man felt himself as one possessed. While he waited for the vessel's engine to start, Hux was certain that he would take down anyone who attempted to stop him.
All around him was still, they all moved aside for him, opened the gate and airlock. The path was clear.
No questions asked, no answers given.
The fragments of a poem floated to the surface out of the tangled depths of the man's memory.
Look not thou on beauty charming;
Sit thou still when kings are arming;
Taste not when the wine-cup glistens;
Speak not when the people listen;
Stop thine ear against the singer;
From the red gold keep thy finger;
Vacant heart and hand and eye,
Easy live and quiet die.
It was not the ventilation, not the heating. It had been music, strange and primeval, calling to him.
He could almost see it. Rough yet nimble hands moving lithely over wooden pipes, its bestial eyes burning like embers. The star, it too was a thing wild and enthralling, casting its spell upon him, like the realm of an old forgotten god.
Armitage burst into nervous laughter as he struggled to focus on the steering of the ship.
What am I doing? he muttered under his breath.