Halfway to Martyrdom

Chapter 4

Hammerly didn't know how she managed it, but she did pass out at some point last night. When she woke to the alarm for her next shift, her body ached in ways she didn't know were possible. She wished she could wash the pain away in a shower, but water was prioritized for cleaning wounds and maintaining hydration. Showers were restricted until supply and filtration were both confirmed capable of handling the demand. In the meantime, deodorant would cover what it could and the crew would tolerate what they must.

Today's recovery efforts were nearly as hectic than yesterday's. Hammerly traveled from crew to crew, tracking the goals, projects, and needs of each team. Energy was low, and morale lay splintered in the pits. Half the people were late to their shifts. Hammerly made her disapproval known, but she didn't punish anyone. Now wasn't the time.

The ship maintenance crews were having the worst day of their lives. When Hammerly checked in with the interim chief engineer, he made it sound like nothing on the Chimaera worked. "Power to the upper levels isn't coming online anytime soon, the engine crew is almost as dead as the engine is, we're rerouting everything we can to the medbay, but they're still having problems with bacta tanks, we keep getting warnings about the artificial gravity turning off, but it never happens, there seem to be moving blockages in the ventilation shafts…" The list went on.

Hammerly kept a running tally of issues on her datapad. When the engineer paused to breath, she offered him her thoughts. "We need to prioritize our focus here. Work on the essentials of getting this ship mobile again. Once we get out of this asteroid field, we are going to hyperspace jump as close to an Imperial repair station as we can. When we exit hyperspace, we will transmit a distress call. The Empire will rescue us."

Chief Engineer Condor listened with half-closed eyes to her description. He yawned before answering. "So we need to fix the engine and the hyperdrive, and we need to keep everyone alive while that's being done."

"Yes. We have shut down parts of the ship already. We don't need all of them back online until after we've returned to the Empire."

"What do we want to do about weapons? That was all over the place at yesterday's meeting."

Hammerly pursed her lips. Right now, no one agreed on how necessary weapons were to the ship's short-term survival. Hammerly agreed with Thrawn's point that the asteroid field shielded them from most potential attackers, but she feared what would happen once the Chimaera exited the field. Silent as Thrawn was on the matter, no one in the crew had any idea where in the stars they were. Hammerly had no guarantee a single jump would take the ship to a securely Imperial part of space, let alone one within easy communication range of a repair station.

Complicating the matter was Bridger's presence on their ship. If anyone knew the Chimaera's current location, it would be the man who brought them here in the first place. All last night, Hammerly had dreaded the next rebel assault. She'd glanced out every viewport she could on the way back to her quarters, waiting for enemy ships to abandon their hiding places among the asteroids. It hadn't come yet, but that didn't mean it never would. Bridger was lying low for a reason. Hammerly sensed it.

Perhaps no attack had come because Bridger had yet to order it. If Bridger got his hands on the ship's communications, he could transmit their location to the rebel fleet. While the Empire prided itself on might and bulk, the rebel fleet was nimbler and included an assortment of smaller crafts. In the hands of the right pilots, a squad of X-wings could almost certainly conduct battle in an asteroid field. The once-proud Chimaera would be easy pickings for a fleet who'd sat Lothal out.

Said line of thinking informed what Hammerly said next, "I don't have an answer about weapons systems yet. All I will say is that engine, hyperdrive, and life support systems take precedence. Also, I do not want external comms online until after we complete our jump. Your crew should fix any issues they find in the system, but don't put it back in use. I repeat: no one is to bring external comms online while we are in our current position."

Condor blinked, pinching his hooked nose in an effort to stay alert. "I will reassign everyone I can to those areas, ma'am. If other crews can spare people with mechanical experience, I need them."

"I will find you more personnel, Chief Condor. I trust your men to complete their tasks to satisfaction. Chief Fennix has orders to give your requests priority, second only to the medics."

"May the stars give us strength." Forgoing decorum, Condor turned his back to Hammerly. He whipped out his comm and barked orders to every tech on shift.

Hammerly kept her promise to Condor as she spoke to the hangar crew, the pilots, and the troopers. Anyone who confessed to knowledge of ship repair (even if their experience was limited to smaller crafts) was sent to Condor for temporary reassignment over Xoxtin, Barron, and Holt's grumbling.

The only men Hammerly didn't consider for reassignment were the troopers Thrawn placed on Bridger watch. Hammerly met with the commander of that squad separately in the wreckage of a meeting room, one not unlike the space she'd shared with Woldar and Vridina the day before. The main point of difference in this case was that Hammerly did not cower under a table for this meeting. She and the rest of the crew were growing adept at maintaining balance during the numerous asteroid collisions compromising the Chimaera's exterior.

Hammerly stood tall as she could against the towering trooper. "Sergeant Jeffries. Your report."

Jeffries saluted her, laid his helmet on the table, and updated her on the steps his team had taken to track Bridger's movements. After locating (and leaving) Bridger's regular clothes in an upper sector closet, they had reason to believe he was now wearing an Imperial uniform. Tracking which uniform he may be in possession of was proving difficult; supply had recently acquired a great deal of uniforms from deceased crewers and was disinfecting them at a speedy rate. No one had expected the crew to recover the uniform of every deceased person, however, so no alarms had been raised when the one Bridger stole went unaccounted for.

"Wouldn't one of our disposal crewmen have commented upon finding a naked corpse?" Hammerly asked. "If we knew which uniform the target stole, then it would be easier for your men to watch out."

"I… I'm not sure how we would ask the strippers that question, ma'am. I thought the grand admiral wanted our mission to stay secret."

True. If Jeffries' team knew to ask about naked corpses, the strippers (of bodies not their own) were bound to wonder why. They should have been the only ones to see that unpleasant sight. Hammerly would look into who had been assigned to the upper sectors herself. "Have any troopers obtained visual of the target, Sergeant?"

"No, ma'am. We have your tip from the galley crew. We know the target is using the ventilation shafts to travel around the ship. We have tracked possible paths the target may have taken from the upper sectors to the kitchen as well as routes it may have traveled since. Our goal is to keep track of where the target visits and what knowledge it may possess while maintaining our discretion."

"Good. Discretion is key. Both in relation to the target and in relation to the remaining crew." If Bridger knew he was being tracked, he was expected to kill the troopers following him without mercy. If the rest of the crew figured out Bridger lived among them and sought vengeance, Bridger was bound to pick them off as well. Only with careful and coordinated efforts would the Chimaera rid themselves of the marauding Jedi rebel.

"Yes, ma'am. My men were selected for their ability to keep their mouths shut and their blasters cold. That's not an easy trait to find among troopers."

"No, but it is a necessary one to our mission. We cannot allow the target to eliminate us slowly."

Jeffries winced. "Or all at once."

Hammerly cringed at the thought. She recalled a partially-classified report she'd found for Thrawn regarding the fate of the Tribunal, a Venator-class Star Destroyer in service during the Clone Wars. Staffed entirely by clones, the company aboard the Tribunal had defeated Mandalorian Super Commandos before crashing into a moon en route to Coruscant. The crash had been no mistake, but induced by the rage of a mutinous Jedi.

Out of thousands, two survived. The Jedi and her traitor. They hid their lives in the mass grave of their brethren, surfacing decades later to betray the Republic's legacy as rebels. One such rebel was a known affiliate of Bridger's. If Bridger was aiming for a similar stunt, Hammerly would not underestimate him. She would do anything in her power to save the Chimaera from the Tribunal's fate.

Belatedly, she remembered Jeffries still stood in the room with her. "Dismissed, Sergeant. I will pass your report along to the grand admiral."

Jeffries nodded, put his helmet back on, and departed the broken meeting room. Hammerly's next step was clear: locate the grand admiral and speak with him in private.

When Hammerly spoke with others on her rounds about the ship, her focus was on the people she conversed with. Their words, their mannerisms, and their state of dress. Hammerly ensured she got her point across and paid attention to little else during that time. Now, as she wandered aimlessly about the ship, its destruction stabbed her in the heart over and over again.

Hammerly wasn't as attached to the Chimaera as she knew Faro had been, but she appreciated the sleek, utilitarian beauty the Empire brought to all its crafts. Imperial crafts imposed order among the chaos. For their ship to lie half-dead among chaos meant they had succumbed to anarchy. Once-open rooms were sealed-off tombs. Corridors were cave tunnels. Permacrete was crushed to fleeting dust, and pride gave way to shame.

Hammerly had no idea what the Chimaera looked like from the outside. She imagined the chimera art on the ventral hull gave image to a wounded beast. Hammerly didn't need an art genius to tell her what that damage symbolized.

She did find one soon after, however. Among the droid repair techs, no less. Thrawn presented the broken husks of his two sentry droids to a stunned group of young mechanics. Their twisted metal bodies lay in fetal position on a large empty hovercart floating before him. "...misunderstand my visit. I am not requesting a repair of these droids. Their parts are for your crew to recycle as they see fit."

"Um… thank you, Grand Admiral sir." Two mechanics, one on either side of the grand admiral, walked up to grab a defunct droid. Both struggled to drag its weight to a workstation.

Hammerly recognized the sentry droids by reputation, if not by sight. Thrawn used to keep them in his office for fighting practice. She stepped forward, saluting Thrawn as she made her presence known. The mechanics acknowledged her in turn. "I didn't realize your office suffered damage, Grand Admiral sir."

Thrawn turned to Hammerly, his expression blank. "That is because my office is fine, Commodore. These droids exhausted their use to me this morning."

One of the mechanics examined the damage on a sentry droid, paling as he fingered the indents on their outer armor. Now that Hammerly paid attention, the damages looked… manmade. Like what happened in the Clone Wars when particularly powerful warriors faced the droid army in close quarters.

The other mechanic gulped. "Did- were these droids on when you did this, sir?"

Thrawn blinked. "They are not particularly useful powered down. I do not believe this detail will affect your salvaging abilities, Technician Fang."

Fang turned away, dark eyes darting about the room before freezing on the far wall. "No, it- wait. Were both of them running when…" he covered the broken plates and exposed wiring of both droids in a sweeping hand gesture, "this happened?"

Thrawn considered the question this time around. "I suppose a novice could build upon their skills by training with one droid at a time, but that is not what occurred here.

"Regardless, the parts are yours now. Use them as the ship demands. I shall find another use for my quiet time." He turned to Hammerly once again. "You need to speak with me, Commodore?"

Hammerly nodded, ignoring the silent conversation now occurring between the two mechanics. "Yes, sir. I suggest we meet somewhere that does not take up any more of these technicians' time. They have much to do."

Thrawn inclined his head. "As you were, Technician Mendez. Technician Fang." With that, the two officers left the droid repair techs behind. The techs, for their part, did not succeed in waiting for Thrawn and Hammerly to exit easy hearing range before expressing shock among themselves.

Hammerly, for her part, was more concerned about what Thrawn had to say. She followed him to an empty but intact room before asking, "are you well, sir?"

"I am fit for duty, Commodore." That… wasn't quite what she asked. "How fares Commander Woldar?"

"Last I saw him, he was resting in his quarters. Ensign Vridina assisted me last night in cleaning and wrapping his wound without the medics' help. She remembers her training in that area far better than I do."

"She completed the relevant instruction more recently than you have." Thrawn paused, then changed the subject. "You wanted to report to me."

"Yes, sir. I have a preliminary report from Sergeant Jeffries."

Thrawn required no greater explanation. "What are his updates?"

"Nothing we might be hoping for, sir." Hammerly recounted every detail she could to Thrawn. He listened with rapt attention. After some hesitation, Hammerly also voiced her concerns and speculations to Thrawn. Half of her wanted Thrawn to confirm her fears, the other half wished he would soothe them. Neither was an appropriate thing to ask for, but she couldn't help herself.

"That is our current state of affairs, sir. What comes next?"

"I suspect that if Bridger had planned to bring us to the rebel fleet for a battle on the rebellion's terms, said battle would have already taken place. While it may make their overall mission easier, it would be an immense drain on the rebellion's resources to split every ship in the Seventh Fleet apart for separate engagement. We are presently unaware of the rest of the fleet's condition, but we can surmise they are not in our immediate vicinity. With the knowledge we possess at present, I must assume each ship is also alone and heavily damaged in an obscure corner of space."

Thrawn stopped to think about what he wanted to say next. "I also do not suspect the rebellion is taking their time in reaching us, as the Chimaera would be the most logical first target for their forces. We are the flagship of the fleet, we possess a rebel commander they ought to be interested in recovering, and we are uniquely vulnerable to enemy assault. If the rebellion had the knowledge of such an opportunity, they would have taken it in haste."

"So what do you think Bridger's plan is, sir? Is he set on eliminating us by himself?"

"If he was, he made a mistake in the battle yesterday. When I was…" Thrawn hesitated, then continued, "when I was unconscious on the upper bridge during our assisted trip through hyperspace, Bridger did not eliminate me. When I awoke in the adjacent corridor, I discovered I had been moved from a location no longer viable by none other than Bridger himself. Upon realizing I was awake, Bridger again abstained from securing my elimination. Instead, he fled.

"I do not believe that Bridger wants me alive. Rather, I believe he is unclear in his designs for the moment. While he is uncertain, Commander Bridger is lying low and allowing our repairs to take shape. For as long as he maintains indecision, Bridger aids our cause."

Hammerly shoved a loose curl away from her face, then put a hand to her chin. She took Thrawn's words into account. "So we keep Bridger in an indecisive state until we are in a position to eliminate him ourselves. How do we accomplish that, sir?"

"We move forward as planned. I require you to focus on managing the crew and ship repairs, Commodore. Leave the issue of Bridger to myself and Sergeant Jeffries' team. Moving forward, I shall take the sergeant's reports directly." Thrawn held Hammerly's gaze. "Our current mission is too much for one person to direct. I need you to assist me in the areas you possess talent, Commodore."

Hammerly knew precious little about large craft maintenance, but she accepted his division of labor without complaint. "I will not let you down, sir. I may not be Faro, but I will contribute what I can."

Thrawn glanced away at the mention of his former XO. "I do not expect you to perfectly replace your predecessor, Commodore. The pair of you excel in different ways. At present, Admiral Faro's talents are at the service of the Eleventh Fleet."

She watched his body language, struggling to read the barely perceptible signals it offered her. Someone less familiar with Thrawn would claim no signals were even present. "Do you wish Faro was here with us?"

"I do not." Thrawn closed his eyes and exhaled. "I notice her absence, but I would not reverse it. In times where I have suffered, there do exist people whose presence would assure me. Yet to bring assurance to myself would require still more people to suffer in situations they could have avoided, and this I cannot justify."

"I understand. I… I guess I agree." Hammerly missed her family when she was on deployment, but she would never ask them to face battle with her. "I hope her fleet is well."

Thrawn inclined his head. "Whatever the state of affairs, I doubt her fleet is worse off than ours."

Fleet Admiral Karyn Faro watched the blue contours of hyperspace from the cockpit of a Lambda shuttle. Her command of an Imperial fleet was set to begin any second now. While waiting, Faro preferred to watch the lines of hyperspace over the pensieve faces of her escort crew.

The state of the Eleventh Fleet was, thus far, one of eternal headache. Faro's pre-command orientation had been brief, and the ceremony certifying her promotion ran even shorter. Before Faro had even stepped foot on the flagship Scylla, she discovered the real reason for her rushed confirmation. The Eleventh Fleet in general and its intended leader in particular were designs of the fallen Grand Admiral Savit. When Savit's loyalty to the Empire had fractured, so too had his younger cousin's bid for command over a fleet. Vice Admiral Travais would have to limp by a few more years on his current position in the Second Fleet. Running Core World military parades was bound to take its toll on the scorned officer.

With Travais out of the running, who better to replace Savit's candidate than the woman who'd ended Savit for good? Over the course of one bloodless battle, Savit had transitioned from a dominant force in the navy to a criminal whose every decision was subject to retroactive investigation. To protect the Eleventh Fleet from its architect's taint, its reigns were thrown into the one pair of hands no one could accuse of serving Savit's treachery.

Given the forces in play, it was likely the Empire expected Faro to make visible changes to the fledgling fleet. She ought to prove that the officers serving her ends were wholly committed to Imperial priorities as defined by the prevailing Fleet Command. The idea went against Faro's instincts to trust the crew she led. In her aspirations for Task Force 231, Faro had imagined herself building the webs of mutual reliance that had served the Chimaera to the end. Not questioning whether every senior officer aboard the vessel secretly wished she'd perished from Imperial infighting. Surely not every position was occupied by a Savit loyalist.

In terms of formal assignment, recent rebel activity had forced the established Seventh Fleet to pull back its operations in Wild Space and the Unknown Regions in favor of maintaining order in the Outer Rim. While they were engaged, the Empire still wanted its expansion program to continue. Hence the formation of the small, fresh-off-the-line Eleventh Fleet not one year after the Tenth Fleet entered service. It comforted Faro to know the content of her missions had changed little, despite the fact that everything else had.

Faro swallowed the tide of emotions threatening to rise out of her throat. One of a soldier's talents was shutting down their emotions in times of necessity. It was a talent Faro thought she had mastered until yesterday. Now… the less time Faro spent with her own thoughts, the better.

The pilots were watching her. If Faro left the cockpit, her escort would watch her as well. Everyone wanted to know how the Empire's overnight superstar would handle her steep ascension. Given recent events, there was no shortage of naysayers convinced Faro would crack under pressure. One of her first objectives as a fleet admiral would be to prove these people wrong. And to do that, there could be no delay in Faro taking position on the Scylla.

The linear path guiding Faro's course jolted to a halt. The Scylla stood ahead with its nose turned up at the shuttle. From the outside, the ship looked like every other Imperial Star Destroyer. It wouldn't be until Faro boarded that she would discover what set the Scylla apart from the others of the Imperial armada.

As the Lambda pilots approached the vessel and obtained permission to land, Faro abandoned the cockpit. She and her escort stood by the exit hatch in perfect formation. With her olive uniform spotless, admiral plaque polished, and makeup applied evenly, Faro was ready to meet her new crew for the first time. She listened with bated breath as the shuttle went through its landing procedures.

The exit hatch gave way to trails of billowing smoke. When their vision cleared, Faro and her troopers moved as one into the hangar. Her escort fanned out in the hangar so that everyone ahead could see their new commander.

Faro had informed the ship of her arrival ahead of time, but she'd made no requests for a ceremony. Judging by the long, parallel lines of officers and troopers gathered in the hangar, it appeared she was getting one anyway. She stood in place at the foot of her Lambda while first officer Commodore Bingsley led the group through an elaborate salute. As Faro scanned the crowd, she couldn't spot a single soldier out of formation.

Bingsley turned towards Faro as the demonstration ended, tiny eyes shining through a face filled with unnecessary bulge. The holo Faro had seen of him prior to coming must've been years out of date. Bingsley was tall but not quite solid in build, and his cap didn't fully cover his salt-and-pepper hair. Each strand on his head still shone wet from a shower. Or perhaps it was sweat.

As Bingsley approached Faro, her nose betrayed the answer to that last query. Man was quite sweaty. Yet his voice boomed loud and steady as he addressed her. "Fleet Admiral! Welcome to the Eleventh Fleet. I speak for the entire crew in offering our sincerest congratulations. We look forward to working with you for the glory of the Empire."

Faro considered dismissing the assembly here and there, but decided that publicly undermining her first officer's efforts would place too much strain on their relationship early on. "Thank you, Commodore Bingsley. I am eager to direct the noble mission of this fleet. Together, we shall bring peace and security to the furthest corners of the galaxy."

Bingsley nodded a bit too eagerly for Faro's liking. He guided her through the line of officers, calling special attention to (who Faro assumed) were the favored officers now under her command. As Bingsley gestured to his chosen soldiers, Faro paid special attention to the ones he didn't recognize. While she would rather observe her crew in action to make character judgements, she would accept first impressions as they were made in this environment.

The officer who stood out the most to her was a young man. A junior lieutenant whose plaque shone from its lack of use. His face should have been fresh, yet it was marred by sallow cheeks and reddened eyes. Beyond the fresh ghost of tragedy in his expression, his appearance struck Faro as familiar. The roundness of his brown irises and the slight upward curl of his hair reminded her of someone she knew to be… dead.

Faro broke eye contact with the lieutenant. She had reached the end of the line with Bingsley. Turning to address everyone assembled, Faro gave them a tight-lipped smile. "It is an honor to serve alongside you. Thank you all for your gathering and cooperation. I came to you all as fast as I could so that there could be no gaps in the Scylla's operations. Now more than ever, nothing must be allowed to disrupt our service to the Empire."

Faro led the crew through their last salute, then dismissed them to their duties. As the assembly broke up in an orderly fashion, Faro gestured to Commodore Bingsley. "Walk with me to the bridge, Commodore. I want your report on the fleet's current status."

"Yes, Fleet Admiral." Bingsley struggled slightly in keeping up with Faro's pace. His report was organized and clear: no sentient lifeforms had been discovered the most recent system the fleet had mapped. Linguistics teams were working to commit the languages encountered in previous systems to Imperial databases. Another ship in the fleet, the Charybdis, had been dispatched to Lysatra over its citizens' complaints about pirates moving into the sector.

Bingsley made the work done by the fleet sound routine. Mundane, even. Faro would learn soon enough if he had glossed over anything important. The pair stopped in front of the bridge's entrance, standing off to the side so junior officers could return to their post. "Thank you for your report, Commodore. I shall call upon you when I require your services once again. You are dismissed to your office."

"I am at your service, Fleet Admiral." Bingsley saluted her, forcing himself to look energetic in her presence. His walk back to his office was languid in comparison.

Faro ordered the officers present to remain as they were while she inspected the bridge. While most of the officers present did try to work, they wanted to watch her every bit as much as she wanted to watch them. These competing purposes made Faro's job difficult to carry out.

When she arrived at the weapons array, Faro found the lieutenant from before again. She directed her questions to Senior Lieutenant Lindan, but the other officer never left the periphery of Faro's attention.

At the end of Lindan's report, the black-haired woman attempted a quip. "Glad you have you aboard, Fleet Admiral sir. I hear your last fleet really fell apart without you."

Before Faro could react to that statement herself, the lieutenant from earlier burst into tears. The entire bridge heard it. Only some were polite enough to ignore the display.

Lindan sighed, cocking her head in a way that suggested this had happened before. "Man up, Lieutenant. If the new admiral can still do her job, so can you." When that only made her subordinate's crying louder, Lindan's eyes flashed with irritation. "You couldn't keep it together for a few more minutes?"

Faro stepped in. "Come with me, Junior Lieutenant. As you were, Lieutenant Lindan."

With no small degree of hesitation, the sobbing officer followed Faro to where she knew the admiral's office would be. Faro hadn't had the time to set up her things in there yet, so the room was currently bare. Only a label on the door suggested the room was hers.

Faro sat down in her place behind the desk, then gestured for the lieutenant to sit as well. She waited for the man's sobs to slow down before asking any questions. "Who did you know in the… in my prior fleet, Lieutenant?"

He sniffed. "My aunt, sir. She… she served with you. A commander."

Faro felt her heart sink. That's why this man looked familiar to her. Her voice shook as she put a name to his face. "You're Hammerly's nephew. Her brother's child. I thought you were a first year cadet."

"That's my sister, sir… um. Ma'am?"

"Sir is correct." Faro wished she had tissues to offer this man. "This is your first Imperial assignment?"

"Yessir. I… I started last month. My aunt was proud of me when I told her. She… she promised I could call her whenever I needed to ask her about something."

Faro nodded. "She dedicated her career to helping others. Remember her well."

Lieutenant Hammerly broke down again. Faro grit her teeth, steeling herself against the assault of emotions raging on both fronts. Once again, she waited for him to quiet down to speak.

"What happened yesterday was a tragedy, one the Empire cannot allow to repeat. I… understand your grief, Lieutenant." Faro's shoulders sagged. She questioned how much she ought to admit to this man. Leaders ought to be paragons of strength to their crew. If she admitted weakness to one soldier, he could spread news of her weakness to everyone. But if expressing some of her own weaknesses helped heal his, it may be a worthwhile trade.

"I tell you this in confidence, Lieutenant. I… did not wear cosmetics on duty before my promotion to fleet admiral."

The junior Hammerly looked up. The confusion he felt proved enough to quell his tears for the moment. "Okay…?"

Instead of explaining with words, Faro put an index finger to her cheek, dragging it along the area below her eyes to reveal the ripe redness the powder was meant to hide. Hammerly the younger inhaled sharply as he realized what Faro was telling him.

"I was offered a chance to delay my command when the news reached Coruscant. My reason for declining was that the people who did this could not be allowed to rest. I decided that I would not personally allow terrorists time to celebrate their destruction. The best thing I could do for the crew…" she paused for a breath. Air struggled to reach her lungs when she did. "For the crew I lost was to dedicate my strength to the Empire. By making the Empire stronger, we can ensure the tragedy that befell them never happens again.

"Still… the offer I received for leave stands. If I have soldiers who are currently incapable of making the same decision as myself, the offer is transferable." Faro leaned forward. "Where would you do more good, Lieutenant?"

His breath was ragged. He bit his lips to stop the noise. "I… I'm not weak, sir."

"I never said you were, Lieutenant. I asked you to assess yourself. Would you be of more use to this crew if I gave you time to recoup?"

He shook his head, steeling his nerve. "I don't need to be treated different, sir. I can do my duty to the Empire. I promise to kill every rebel who did this to my aunt, sir."

Faro smiled with half her face. She could see why Hammerly liked her relatives. "Good. Are you ready to return to your post, Lieutenant?"

He wiped his face with his sleeve, then stood. His eyes shone determined, if still a bit cloudy. "Yessir!"

Faro kept herself from cringing at the display. "Freshen up first, Lieutenant. I want my officers presentable on duty."

"Yessir!" He saluted, the snot on his sleeve catching the light as he did.

"That is all. You are dismissed."

Faro watched as the young man departed. As the door closed, she contemplated the odds of having someone like Lieutenant Hammerly on her flagship's crew. How much of a coincidence could it be?

She didn't have time to think about it. Faro needed to set up in her office. After that, she ought to speak with Lindan in private.

But first, she needed to fix her appearance. No one else needed to see beneath her mask.

A/N's: Anyone who has read my other fics knows how much I love Faro. No one should be surprised I included her in this fic. The section with her was almost part of the third chapter, but I decided that was premature.

Also, there are two Hammerly's in this fic. As they are separated by numerous factors (age, gender, location, to name a few), I promise it will not get confusing which one is in what scene.

Furthermore, I'm sorry this chapter took some time to come out. OCs take some time to formulate, and I've been dealing with personal matters in the meantime. My final exams are coming soon, so this may be my last HtM update before summer. No promises, but I do have another fic I'd like to work on in the meantime.

Hope you enjoyed, and thank you to everyone for your continued support!