19 Years Later
When Captain Vanick Von-Kar awoke that morning, he awoke energised, yet saddened. His new command waited for him, and even though excitement and reluctance kept him awake the night prior, he needed to be ready. He needed strength this day. His stewards had pressed his uniform, buffered his boots, delinted his trousers and prepared his cap for the occasion, but as young sailors often do, they missed a spot or two; a thin layer of dust had settled over his new rank bars. For such an oversight, the other captains might have punished their stewards, but Vanick took pride in his calm, yet stern, reputation. He simply sighed, eyed the door of his quarters, and with his undershirt, wiped away the dust until the rank bars sparkled. He looked himself over in the mirror, ensuring his dirty-blonde hair was neat, that he hadn't missed any spots shaving that morning, that his cap was perfectly horizontal on his brow, and finally, that his new rank was straight. Satisfied with his deportment, he left his quarters into the halls of his old old ship.
The Unbreakable, was an old Venator-Class Cruiser, nearly as old as the clone wars themselves, and she certainly felt her age. Bulkheads creaked when exiting hyperspace, but she never cracked or buckled. She was built of better stuff than to let hyperspace be her death. The crew could say what they wanted about the Republic days, they didn't build them like they used to. Most other Venators were scrapped for materials, or ended up as wreckage, but not the Unbreakable. She kept going, complaining all the way, but she kept going.
Vanick ran his hands along her corridors, her dented, scraped walls, tracing the path he always took to the bridge. He looked out the scratched viewports, at the scorch marks and repairs-upon-repairs across her hull. The portside battery needed to be realigned and zeroed. The bearings on the turrets needed to be replaced. So many projects left unfinished. So many battles had the two fought together, that to say goodbye was almost unbelievable. The Unbreakable was his closest friend. When the doors slid open, Vanick relaxed the crew, said his goodbyes, shook his old Executive Officer's hand, and looked out those scratched windows one last time. Turning to the command crew, he offered a salute, and exclaimed the joke motto they crew had blessed the Unbreakable with;
"Breaking, but never broken."
The hangar awaited him with a small parade, as much as the ship could spare of its busy crew. The incoming Captain disembarked his shuttle. He was a young-looking fresh captain, with a strong jaw and confidence in his eyes. His skin was fair and unblemished by battle, his uniform clearly unkempt from the long trip in his shuttle. The young captain shook his hand and looked around.
"What a piece of junk." He whispered.
Vanick tried to hide his offence, but couldn't hide his tightening grip around the young captain's hand.
"She's stronger than she looks, lad." Vanick replied, still holding tight. "She's probably seen more battles than you, too. Respect your elders. Keep her fueled, keep her greased, and she will never fail you."
Vanick squeezed his hand hard into the other captain's knuckles, making the boy wince. "I've kept her flying for eight years. Even if you don't care not to fail her, do not fail me. Oh, no, no. Don't show pain. You wouldn't want to show that on your first day. I'll tell you right now, the crew of this 'piece of junk' will eat you alive if they see weakness. They've fought much, much harder than I have to keep this old girl spaceworthy. I doubt they'd take it nicely if you let her die on your watch."
The young captain smirked through the pain, glazing cautiously at the grizzled faces among the parade. "Of course."
When Vanick was satisfied, he let go, and the young captain subtly placed his crushed hand in his pocket, biting down on his cheeks to keep his composure.
"The Unbreakable is yours." Vanick finally said, stepping into the shuttle and offering a final salute to the other captain. "Safe voyage."
"You as-" The young captain started, but was cut short by the closing shuttle doors.
"Child." Vanick sighed, removing his cap and sitting down in one of the cushioned seats. He ran his hands through his hair and gave the Unbreakable one last look out the viewport. She hovered silently over the scattered corpses of two other Venator class ships, as scavenging was the only way to find replacement parts. He would miss her.
"Goodbye, old girl."
The shuttle burst from hyperspace before the Kuat Shipyards, a massive ring of docks and hangars large enough to encircle the entire planet of Kuat. It was here, in the core of the galaxy, where the majority of the galaxy's ships were built and repaired. Star destroyers of all classes and at every level of construction sat in the docks by the thousands, and even these titanic beasts were dots in comparison to the Kuat Shipyards. From Vanick's little shuttle, the shipyards were a celestial body all their own, until only steel and industry filled the viewports.
The pilot transferred their codes, and once permission was given to approach, the shuttle lurched forward. They turned a corner, entered one of the city-sized hangars, and there it was; The Shade, the first of its class. Its hull deviated very little from the Imperial Star Destroyer, but for some very obvious changes. The bridge and shield projectors were now hidden inside the substructure, creating a safer bridge and a lower profile. Where the bridge tower once sat, eight more octople-barreled turbolaser barbettes were installed. Turbolasers were substituted for point-defence weapons, and were more evenly-distributed across her hull, including the rear and the undercarriage. Her hull was painted a light-absorbing black to hide her from sight, save for the brightest of starlight. She was slick, smaller than an Imperial-Class Star Destroyer; the next generation of warfare.
"I've never seen one like that." The pilot muttered. "Forgive me, sir, but I thought Tarkin's Doctrine-"
"Tarkin is dead." Vanick said curtly. "And his doctrine along with him. This is the future of the Imperial Forces; if terror doesn't scare them, then cold, efficient death might. We will appear from the shadows, a ghost from the dark side of their own worlds, where they think they are safest. We will rain fire and death upon them, then we will simply vanish. These guerilla fighters will see their own tactics used against them, and they will tremble when we lay them to the dust."
"You didn't like Tarkin very much, did you sir?"
Vanick scoffed. "He was proud and overconfident. Now he's dead, and his two-hundred-quintillion-credit battle station is just a ring of debris around Yavin. No, I didn't think much of the man."
The shuttle landed with a light jerk, and when the compartment doors opened, revealed a much more elaborate parade to welcome him. The soldiers were dressed in a new version of the common armour, built thicker and fuller, able to cover up the spots that older iterations left unprotected. It may have reduced mobility, but that remained to be seen. The helmets were streamlined around the jaw, the bulky tubes replaced with slender slits that fit around the cheeks. The vocoder stretched up to the nose bridge, replacing the frown and dehumanising the helmet. They looked menacing, inhuman, uncaring. The officers were all in dark, crisp uniforms, their boots shining, their caps perfectly level.
The hangar was cleaner than any deck Vanick had ever commanded. The lights were smooth and bright, the floors practically mirrors. Undamaged TIE fighters hung from on high in the dozens, slumbering along their docking rails. No music was played, no pomp or circumstance, and finally, Vanick's attention was brought front and centre, to the man who was waiting for him. It was an older human male in a white uniform, with a white beard and a trimmed head of hair. His tunic boasted the rank plate of an Admiral, and Vanick greeted him as such.
"Admiral." Vanick hailed, saluting the old man.
The Admiral saluted back, then embraced Vanick, offering a solid pat on the back. "It's good to see you again, son."
"Likewise." Vanick replied, returning the embrace.
"Welcome to your first real command." Admiral Von-Kar exclaimed, releasing his son and gesturing for them to walk. "That Venator was no place for a son of the Von-Kar lineage."
"I owe everything I learned to that ship." Vanick argued. "She was a challenge, but I hope to take everything I learned and apply it to the Shade and her crew."
"See that you do." Admiral Von-Kar stated. "The Shade isn't just a new ship; she's the future of warfare. Every tool has its place, but against these rebels…against a parasite, sometimes you need to cut into the flesh to find it. Against rebels, we need a scalpel, not a hammer. The Imperial Navy shall become that scalpel. We will leave the hammering to the army grunts. Hmm?"
Vanick smirked. His father always considered the Imperial Army to be a waste of resources. Holding ground meant nothing when the souls on every planet could be smitten from orbit. The Admiral began to frown, then grabbed Vanick by the arm, wrinkling his uniform.
"Do not fail the Emperor. His eyes are on you, now. I didn't pull all those strings to see my family line embarrassed. Understand?"
Vanick furrowed his brow. "What strings did you pull? I thought I was here because I earned it."
The Admiral looked away.
"Father," Vanick muttered, pulling his arm away. "I told you-"
"Not here." The Admiral sternly grunted, continuing only once they had both stepped into the Captain's quarters. It was spacious and lit with dim, white light, with decorative art and cabinets of alien collectibles lining the dark-grey walls. His bed was massive, his lounging area, filled with comfortable furniture. His desk was equipped with a holoprojector and access to the ship's files. The door slid shut and the two turned to each other.
"Don't start this again, child-"
"I told you a thousand times, I will not be seen as weak!" Vanick snapped. "If the crew finds out I'm only here because my father made it so and not on my own merit, then how will that look?"
"Vanick-"
"I suppose it wouldn't hurt to walk around the decks in diapers, too?!"
"Captain Von-Kar!" The Admiral roared. "Do you not see the embarrassment it is to have a son captaining a hunk of scrap?! That Venator was political suicide for your family! I had to act, or we would have lost favour both in the Admiralty and on Coruscant!"
"Well, I'm sorry to have been such an embarrassment." Vanick muttered. "Thank you for your visit. I hope to see orders passed down soon."
"Son, you understand-"
"If the crew learns that I didn't earn the right to lead them, I could lose their respect and their subordination." Vanick argued. "I could lose command and control of this ship. You would risk that?"
"Nobody knows." The Admiral replied. "The only ones who know are myself and three members of the retired senate."
"Now I have to live with that." Vanick grunted. "Will your leash be leading me, taunting me through every step of my career?! Do you even know what I've been doing for eight years? Has my loyalty, my sleepless nights, my hours of battle experience, has it all contributed nothing? Have you even bothered to check up, or have you been too embarrassed?"
"Your reports were factored into the decision. I'm sorry, son, but not just anyone commands a ship fresh off the line. You were twelfth on the list of candidates, and I would be damned to see you command that fossil for a single day more. With the Emperor's eyes on our family's success, we will guarantee a future for our family for a thousand generations, something not even an Admiral's salary can guarantee. That is your task, now, boy."
Vanick pursed his lips to hide his frustration, collected his thoughts, then moved to the door. "Admiral, with respect, I have much to inspect and prepare, if the Shade is to get underway. I will need all the focus I can muster. I wouldn't want to disappoint the Emperor."
Admiral Von-Kar sighed and shook his head. Vanick offered a professional salute, and his father returned the respect.
"Victory be with you, son."
"And with you, Admiral sir."
When the door shut and he was sure his father was far enough away, Vanick let out a furious shout, throwing his gloved fist into the delicate art case on the wall. The glass case shattered, scattering across the floor. Vanick felt his teeth sting from clenching so hard. His eyes bulged. His breathing was heavy. How could his own father use him? How could he betray his trust like this? He didn't earn this command. How could he stand before the crew and address them now?
Lies; something all Von-Kar's are gifted in. He entered the sleek, dimly-lit bridge. It was designed as any other Star Destroyer's bridge, but where there might have been windows on a normal ship, there were holo displays and screens. She felt like a ship designed only for war. The lights were dim, her grim crew in their grey-green uniforms, each one hand-picked for loyalty, ruthlessness and their elite quality. His Executive Officer stood before the crew and saluted. He was an older, larger man, scarred across his face from burns. His left eye was replaced by a glowing, red prosthetic, whose laser-thin beam cut through the dusty air. His balding, grey hair was kept short, his hands clasped behind his back. When his saluting hand moved, there came a sound of whirring metal.
"Sir." The man greeted. "I'm Commander Calagar, your Ex-O. The Shade awaits your address."
Vanick nodded and turned to his bridge crew, all waiting silently, still in the dim bridge. Throughout the ship, all ears listened to the intercoms.
"This ship," Vanick started. "Represents a new age for the galaxy. Every single one of you was picked on your…merit…to be here, to represent the Emperor's will. Our destiny will be written by the songs of her guns. Our enemies will know us by the tales of a nameless ghost ship, with a silent crew of merciless phantoms. The galaxy will learn a new fear; that of uncertainty. Every creature who flies the rebel flag will live forever in fear of the shadows, always unsure if we are there, waiting for them to turn their back. We are fear. We are death. Every soul on this ship will carry that cruelty in their hearts. This is Captain Von-Kar. Do not fail me."
With that, Vanick switched off the intercom and turned to his deck crew. "Speech is over, sailors! The Shade won't fly herself! Back to work! Ex-O, I will need full diagnostics of the stealth tech, turbolaser output, and hyperdrive software updates. I need navigation systems checked, then double-checked, I will not see the Shade driven into a star on her maiden voyage!"
