Hello my loyal readers! I'm finally back with a new chapter, and I won't keep you waiting. I know you all have been anxious to see how Thorne is doing since her injury, and to read about the aftermath of the team's assault on the rebel base. So here it is, for your reading pleasure. Enjoy!
For the first hour of the ride back to The Accuser, the men and women of Delta-7 were silent. There wasn't the usual witty banter and boasting. There was no loud music and celebration. The mission had been a success, an overwhelming success. Once tallied, the team had killed fifty-three rebels, and had captured five, all now safely stowed in the ad-hoc cell in the back of The Huntsman. They had destroyed seven enemy fighters, a major loss to a rebellion constantly having to steal or rebuild starfighters for their use, and two transport ships had been blown to bits. The entire rebel facility was a burning heap now, and there was no chance the seditionists would be able to salvage anything from it. All of this, at the mere cost of two injured soldiers.
So why did the victory seem so hollow? Commander Tharcourt reflected on this as he sat on the padded bench, cooling off under the stream of air blowing from the ship's climate control vent. He looked down at Freya. She was laying on the bench seat, her knees slightly bent, her arms holding onto herself as her head rested on his left leg. Bacta spray and strong painkillers had done a temporary job on some of her superficial injuries, and done well to deaden some of the misery she had to be in, but Thorne needed medical treatment badly.
Once Dall had come out of his pain-induced stupor and grouchiness, he had diagnosed the poor ensign with a broken nose, two cracked ribs, multiple moderate to severe contusions, a badly sprained ankle, and a concussion that would make a medical-service droid curse. It was confusing to the medic, and to Tharcourt how the young woman was still conscious, let alone able to move under her own power and form somewhat sensical statements.
It no doubt had to do with her amazing willpower and attitude, Drakken thought. This girl had somehow beaten a Devaronian in hand-to-hand combat, notwithstanding that her triumph had also involved a very rapid decent down a flight of concrete stairs. It was doubtful that any of them could have done either of those things and survived. He scoffed, let himself smile a little, and gently stroked her head with his gloved hand, eliciting a contented sigh from her. Freya really was something else.
"You still with us, Freya?" Tharcourt asked softly.
"Mmm…" She responded weakly. "Think…soo, Drakken."
"Good." He said in a whisper. "Just stay awake, okay? Doc says you can't go to sleep till we get back. Then we'll get you a nice bath in a delightful bacta tank. You'll be good as new in no time, my friend."
"Ah…" She whispered, her teammates nearby glancing at her with combinations of concern and glowing respect. "…well…canna' weet fer it t' be sure, c'mander darlin'. Ugh…Jus' wanna loll offta codladh an' dreams a' kidney pie an' cookies."
"Freya, just keep talking, okay?" Tharcourt said, goading her into thinking, into talking. Anything to keep her awake. He knew that head injuries were nothing to toy with, and if you made the mistake of going to sleep with one as bad as hers, there was always the chance that you would never wake up.
"I…I think I did…okay, Drakken." She muttered. "Did I…I did like wot I should hae, right?" He choked up a little. That's what she was worried about in all of this? She was beaten half to death, and she wanted to know if she had done right by him.
"Freya…" He answered. "You did as well as I knew you would. Better even. You should be proud."
"Me…first battle." She sighed. "Got meself right pulped up too…ugh…cannae believe it."
"It's alright." Drakken reassured her, petting her head again. "I've used my face to break someone's fist a few times myself."
"Errrghh…." She growled weakly. "Dat fella…whas he again? Deviled-eggian or…oh bollocks, me 'ead hurts like th' blazes."
"I know." Tharcourt sighed.
"Wha…where's I? Mmm…that fecker…face soo sour 'e could right make 'is own yoghurt…right bate the bloody bag outta me…" She took a labored, shuddering breath and moaned a little in pain. "but I shewed 'im…I shewed 'im right good…dinae I, c'mander, darlin'?"
"Ma'am?" Gallen interjected from across the isle. "Ma'am can you hear me?!"
"Wha…I reckon' I do…Reesah Gallen, ye greet…screamin' dafty. Thund'rin 'ell, ye think I'm dead?" Mets, Coleth and Lago chuckled. Gallen grinned sheepishly.
"Sorry, ma'am." He said in a gentler voice. "Just um…I was going to say that we're all proud of you. The way you beat that Devaronian rebel…damn. I would've got my head caved in. You're one mean cat, ma'am."
"Kriffin ey." Mets added. "You're an officer to serve under, ma'am. They ought to call you Ensign Hellcat Thorne."
"Yeah." Coleth agreed. "The Hellcat Ensign, the new superweapon of the Empire."
"Oh stars…" Drakken grumbled. "Looks like you have a nickname, Freya."
"Hm? Oh that's good, me darlin'. Thas good…." Her voice faded away as if she were losing consciousness. Tharcourt shook her gently.
"Hey. Come on now." He chided.
"Eh? Wot?" She breathed as if she'd just awoken from a deep slumber.
"You aren't going to sleep, remember? Tharcourt reminded her.
"Neu. A' course not." She returned.
"Good. We'll be home in a little bit, okay? Just a little longer and we'll be home."
"Safe home…" She muttered distantly, then to everyone's surprise, Thorne in her delirium began to sign in a weak but beautiful voice:
Love waits for me 'round the bend…leads me endlessly on
Surely sorrows shall find their end and all our troubles will be gone
And I'll know what I've lost…and all that I've won
When the road finally takes me hooooome
"Geez…" Gallen remarked. "I didn't know you could sing like that."
"That was…really pretty, ma'am." Lago agreed.
"Hm. The Hellcat officer can sing too." Mets shrugged.
"Oh…I's just killin' time…yee…I sang a wee bit…when I was a girl…" Thorne muttered.
"Could you sing for us sometime, Ensign?" Gallen asked. "I mean, that's not over the line…to ask, is it, ma'am?"
"Don't ye be fussin' about lookin' prim an' proper, now." She ordered, then groaned as if her outburst had hurt a great deal. "Nughh…I…I may…ungh…alright…if'n I ain't too scarlet t' do it."
"Scarlet?" Tharcourt asked.
"Hngh…Embarassed, Drakken." She replied. "I hate…actin' the maggot."
"You mean looking foolish?" Drakken asked her.
"Mm-hm." Was all she said, gently moving her head to the affirmative. He could hear her breathing hard, and could tell the even though she was trying to hide it, Freya was in terrible pain. He tried to get her mind off of it.
"You know something, Freya?"
"Mm?"
"I love the way you talk."
"Aye?"
"Oh, aye. Sometimes I don't understand half of it, but I always thought it was charming. I'm actually getting pretty good at knowing what some of it means."
"Mm…yeah?"
"Oh indeed. Like when you say…" He cleared his throat and did the best impression he could of Thorne's accent. "Morning Drakken, ow's she cuttin'?" or "C'mander me mate, let's off to the mess an' have the craic a while." I know you're in a good mood at work. Now if I hear "Drakken Tharcourt, ye thick bampot, ye nae should'na doon that!", I know I'm about to get it." He heard Freya laugh a little, and her head shook as she attempted to chuckle.
"Ohhh…owww…" She complained. "Drakken…yer a charmin' man, and funny as a dancin' devil…but owww…doon't mak me laugh right now…I beg o' ye, c'mander darlin'."
"Apologies, my dear ensign." Tharcourt said with a little smile, happy that he'd brought her at least a little happiness in the middle of what looked like a torrent of misery.
"We're about five minutes out." Ekks called back over the intercom. "How's our patients?" Tharcourt reached back and pushed a button behind him on the bulkhead.
"Still hanging in there." He answered. "Call in and let them know we need a medical team standing by."
"On it, commander."
"Oh…I cannae be…goin' ool 'lone…an tèid thu còmhla rium?"
"What Freya?" Drakken asked. "I didn't understand you." She turned her head slightly and let out a sad coo.
"Will ye…go with me, Drakken?" She asked in a whisper. He nodded.
"Yeah, I'm going to go with you." He said. "Make sure the sawbones treat you right…don't worry."
"Oh they best…" She sighed. "Nughh…go proddin' where they need not…I'll…I'll gie'm a skelpit lug."
"Mm. And I bet you would."
Before The Huntsman even touched down in the docking bay, there was a team of medical staff waiting for the wounded of the unit. An Imperial Navy medical officer, six orderlies dressed in their tidy, white uniforms, and a medical service droid were standing in the hangar, prepared for their arrival with two hovering gurneys. The shuttle sat down gently, and the forward ramp began to lower before the engines had fully shut down. The first off the ship was Felian, helping Dall down the ramp, and over to one of the stretchers. Dall waved the scout trooper off irritably, and clumsily rolled onto the gurney. Before the medical officer could speak, Dall gave him a curt rundown.
"Fractured ribs lateral anterior, contusions, pulled ligament in my left wrist. Ugh…I seem to have some pain near the L1 and L2 you need to address. Also dehydrated. Start me a basic saline IV drip if you don't mind." The officer, a captain gave Dall a confused look. "I'm a field medic, sir. Have to know what's wrong with myself too." The captain scoffed lightly, and turned to watch Commander Tharcourt coming down the ramp with Thorne hanging off of his shoulder, barely able to walk.
"And the ensign, corporal?" The captain queried. Dall sighed.
"I could give you a short list of what isn't busted on her, sir. She went toe-to-toe with the same Devaronian rebel that threw me around. Killed him too."
"She did?" The captain asked with a perked-up eyebrow.
"Sent him down the same stairs he lobbed me down." Dall shrugged, then winced with the movement.
"Captain." Tharcourt greeted. "Commander Tharcourt. This is Ensign Freya Thorne. I hate to dispense with pleasantries here, but she's in a pretty bad way." He allowed two orderlies to assist him in getting the young woman onto the vacant gurney, Thorne letting out a sob of pain as she was hefted onto the hovering litter.
"It's alright, commander. We medical men are used to abruptness." He examined her briefly, and shined a penlight into her green eyes. "Yes. Took a bad blow to the cranium, didn't you, ensign? Alright, get her to medical bay four. I want her in a bacta tank ASAP." Two of the orderlies started to push the gurney away, when Freya suddenly thrust out her hand and grabbed Drakken's.
"Stoop." She breathed. "Ye promised ye'd go with me…sir."
"I did." Tharcourt stated. "And I will. Daraay?!"
"Here, sir." The death trooper answered from behind him.
"Sergeant, take the team to the barracks. I want everyone to hydrate, shower and get some rest. I'll be back as soon as I can."
"Understood, sir." She saluted, and watched as the stretcher bearing the Ensign was carted off, her commander walking alongside, duty-bound to his friend. Daraay paused a moment, watching the scene. She couldn't make sense of it in her head, but it seemed that every day that passed since joining the team, she respected the commander more and more. No officer she had ever known showed as much care for the troopers and fellow officers in his unit as he did. And why would he not? Commander Tharcourt had, in her augmented eyes, assembled some of the best soldiers she had ever known. Mostly…
"Sergeant Daraay," Dall called as his gurney was pushed past. "Can you make sure Ekks and Gallen don't go near my cubicle…I don't want them plastering my walls with pinups of Twi'lek dancer girls again. The children…"
"I will do what I can, corporal Dall." Daraay answered as the medic was guided off to sick bay.
Tharcourt followed alongside Freya as the medical unit passed down the corridor, up an elevator, down another shorter hall and into one of the eight medical facilities on board the star destroyer. They were taken into a room with white walls, a white floor, a white ceiling and irritatingly bright lights. Freya never released her grip on Drakken's hand until the hospital attendants scooped her up and placed her on a white-sheeted mattress atop a steel table. They immediately started cutting off her tunic, but were stopped by Tharcourt.
"Wait." He demanded. The orderlies stopped their work, and the captain, a man Tharcourt learned was named of all things Doctor Kartid Vayne, started to speak, but Drakken cut him off. "Sorry, doc. She has this cultural thing. Please take off her boots and skir…fellabeg carefully. And the gloves. They cost more than my education."
"As you say, Commander." Captain Vayne nodded. The orderlies did as instructed, and Tharcourt turned away as they undressed her. He waited until they had clothed her in a simple binding about her chest and a sort of wrap reminiscent of a baby's diaper. He once again stood by her side as the team prepped a nearby bacta tank, filling the horizontal cylinder half-full of the healing blue liquid.
"You're going to be fine, Freya." He said with a small smile. "You'll probably be out for a day or two, but you'll be back with the team in no time flat." She opened her good eye and the faintest trace of a warm smile came over her face.
"Aye." She said. "An ye best not…oww…be off havin' a lark w…without me." She returned.
"Sir, we're ready with the tank." One of the attendants advised.
"Right." Drakken acquiesced. "Soon as your out, we're gonna grab a hot meal."
"As always." She whispered. "See ye soon…Drakken…I…I…"
"Freya?"
"Ah dinnae ken. Mmm…Me head's…mince. Never ye mind. See ye when I'm…all better."
"Pleasant dreams, my friend." He said softly. The orderlies wheeled her over to, and hefted Thorne up and into the bacta tank. He walked over and watched as they inserted an IV drip of sedatives into her arm, and placed a breathing tube in her mouth, Freya showing a little apprehension at the latter until her eyes met his, and she calmed a bit. "Just relax…it's going to feel a bit strange, like a tingling." He told her, and Freya nodded gently. "I'll see you soon." They closed the lid, and engaged the pump, the tank filling with more liquid bacta. Under the effects of the quick-acting tranquillizers, Thorne fell asleep, floating peacefully in the tube.
"She should be alright in about thirty-six hours." Vayne remarked, coming to stand beside Tharcourt. "Probably have a bit of a headache, and some soreness will persist for a day or so. Other than that, expect your ensign to make a full recovery and to be fit for duty within a couple of days." Drakken nodded.
"Thank you, captain." He said. "Take good care of her. She's a trusted friend and one of the best junior officers I've ever known."
"Yes, I can tell you two are close, commander." Vayne said. "Don't worry. I will send for you when her treatment is done. I'm sure she'd like to see a friendly face when she wakes up."
"Thank you." Tharcourt said again. He turned back to the medical bay, and picked up her pleated skirt, boots and gloves, folding them as well as he could and tucking them under an arm. He looked once more at the doctor and gave a short bow before leaving the bay.
Drakken had just exited the door and begun his trek down the hall when he saw Piett. The captain was walking up the hall with a quick, measured gait, his arms behind him. Tharcourt knew this walk all too well. Firmus Piett always moved like that when he had something on his mind, some vexation of thought that manifested as a burst of stamina in the forty-year-old officer. Tharcourt halted, allowing his old friend the pleasure of working off some nervous energy by making him complete his quick parade down the hall.
"Drakken." Piett stated, coming to a quick military stop before him. "I've been looking for you. Your death trooper said you were in medical. I hope all's well."
"Yeah…I'm alright." Tharcourt replied with a sigh. "Ensign Thorne got busted up pretty badly on our mission. I brought her up here when we returned."
"Oh. Is she alright?" Piett asked, genuine concern seeping into his tone.
"Thank the stars, yes. She had a fistfight with a hulking rebel alien and came out of it with a trip to the bacta tank."
"Hn. How big an alien?"
"A devaronian." Tharcourt answered. "Remember those B-2 battle droids back in the day?"
"Yes…" Firmus said curiously.
"About that big." Drakken stated.
"Good night! And she fought him one-on-one?"
"Fists and staff, Piett. The rebels are down one bruiser now. She sent him down a flight of stairs, for Kriff's sake. I'm proud of her." At that, Piett's eyebrows shot up for a moment.
"I would be too. Wonder you had to be the one to save her from that spot she was in. Sounds like she can handle herself smartly."
"Yeah." Drakken muttered. "So why were you on a mission to find me in the first place, old man?"
"Ah yes. Lord Vader wants to meet with you as soon as possible. He ordered me to go to medical and bring you back, I suppose alive, dead, or anywhere in-between." Tharcourt shuddered a little.
"Sounds serious. Am I in some kind of trouble?"
"No…no. He just wants a debriefing about your mission. That's all."
"All? Hopefully I don't misspeak again. He almost throttled the life out of me on Endor." Tharcourt admitted. "Lord Vader has a power that…it frankly terrifies me, Firmus." Piett simply gave his friend a sympathetic look.
"Hm. Yes. He can be very unforgiving of those who fail him. It's rare he grants a second chance. He must like something about you."
"Huh." Drakken scoffed as the two of them started down the hall toward a turbolift. They took the lift up nearly to the uppermost shelterdeck of The Accuser, then down a corridor to find the lift to take them up to the bridge levels. All the while, Piett seemed to be examining every aspect of the ship. Drakken noticed him glancing at every hatch, every grating, seemingly admiring the electrical conduit. He was about to ask why, when Piett suddenly reached out and trailed his gloved fingertips along the section of wall they were passing and sighed.
"You know…" Firmus stated. "I think I'm going to miss the old girl."
"Mm." Drakken mumbled, unsure of what to say. "She does seem like a well knocked-together ship."
"She has been a good vessel." The captain returned. "Four and a half years. That's how long I've been stationed on The Accuser. I have been in command for three years, five months and seventeen days as of today."
"Damn…you kept count." Drakken commented. Piett shrugged.
"Three more days, and I suppose I'll be playing leftennant to that damned Admiral Ozzel, on a ship I don't know." He cast a silent glance at his old friend as they walked. "Yes, you never were a ship-fellow, were you Drakken?"
"I know most of the classes on sight, but no…outside of being stationed on them or being flown in them, I'm not really an…aficionado, you know?
"Mm. You learn that they have their own personalities, you see? From the engines to the AI all the way to the feel of it when you steer. They're all individually unique. Almost like people."
"Yeah. Corporal Ekks…my pilot, he said something like that once or twice."
"It's very much true." Captain Piett agreed as they passed a pair of stormtroopers in the hall. The white-armored soldiers stopped and saluted as they passed. "And it's not that I think The Executor is a bad ship. She's probably quite good, and she is the flagship of an entire fleet after all. I just don't know her. And I do not look forward to becoming acquainted, to tell you the truth. Too damned big."
"I've never seen a super star destroyer before." Drakken said. "I heard they're three times the size of one of these."
"And you know it took me three months before I could begin to find my way around on this ship?" Piett shot. "And still, if you asked me where the starboard reactor area refreshers were, or the forward hold supply closets, I would happily direct you to someone who did!"
"I'm sure you'll get used to being on the new ship. Firmus." Tharcourt said. "By the time the new wears off, you'll probably be the head honcho of the fleet." He scoffed and shook his head. "I never had much hope of winning our race, to be honest. You had almost two years head start on me, and you're the better line officer."
"Too bad merit alone doesn't always mean promotion." Piett admitted. "If it did, I'm sure I'd be rear admiral by now…if you hadn't beaten me to the top by being made director of special forces."
"I'm not that good…" Drakken confessed. "Though…I sometimes wonder what would have happened…if I hadn't joined the Empire."
"Much the same." Firmus sighed. "The places we're from, Drakken…I believe it was our only shot of getting off-world."
"You ever been back?" Drakken asked. "You know, visited home?"
"Oh yes, many times." Piett answered as they boarded a turbolift. "My mother and sister still live on Axilla. My father passed away three years ago."
"Sorry to hear."
"Don't be. He was a drunkard." Piett stated. "Anyhow, I was on Axilla a couple months back for on a two-day leave, in fact. My sister Matayla had just given birth. I thought I should make an appearance."
"Hm. Uncle Firmus."
"Quiet, you." Piett grumbled, but gave a little smirk. "What about you, old boy? When were you last home?" Tharcourt didn't answer for a while, and Piett cocked his head, wondering if he had said something off-putting. He thought on how odd it was that in the last eighteen years, Drakken had never spoken about his home world or his family.
"I've never been back." Tharcourt finally said in a brooding tone. "And I will not…no."
"Sorry if I dredged up some bad ghosts there, old man…"
"Nah." Drakken returned, as if to shoo away any emotion attached to the conversation. "I always said that I was raised by war himself." Piett let out a less-than satisfied 'hm' at his friend's statement.
"No, that's what all of the stormtroopers say about you." The captain corrected him. "You always said that an old vulture hatched you out and a wood-fox raised you."
"Oh yes…" Tharcourt said as if recalling. They suddenly realized that while engrossed in conversation, they had reached the bridge of the ship. Drakken took a deep breath and exhaled sharply.
"Well…there it is." Piett stated, straightening his posture. "Be honest with him, and for kriff's sake, don't be snarky, Drakken. Here." He took the bundle of Freya's clothing from under his friend's arm. "Can't have you meeting Lord Vader while carrying a pile of ladies clothing." He pressed a button, and the door to the bridge opened. Tharcourt was immediately hit with that familiar cold sensation that presaged seeing the dark lord. The two stepped onto the bridge of the destroyer, and Drakken spotted the unmistakable form of his superior.
Lord Vader stood before the windows, silently and motionlessly watching space go by. His hands were on his hips, spreading out the mysterious wizard's cape to make him look even larger. Before Tharcourt and Piett had even reached him, Vader turned with a flourish of his long black cape, and seemed to look not at Drakken, but as it felt, into him. For a few moments, the special forces commander's mind went blank, and he found himself unable to speak. Whether it was out of fear, or the result of some dark magic, he didn't know. Finally, he straightened his back and came to a salute.
"Lord Vader." He stated. "Commander Tharcourt, reporting as ordered, sir."
"Yes, commander…" Vader returned in his deep, almost inhuman voice. "When I heard you were in the medical facility…I had hoped you would not expire before I had a chance to speak with you about your mission. It is good to see that you are well."
"Thank you, sir." Tharcourt said. "And I am. It was a rough time there, but we eliminated the rebel base. I'm…happy to answer any of your questions, of course."
"Very well…" Vader began. "You did not locate the rebel pilot known as Skywalker." It was a statement more than a question, and Drakken knew it.
"No sir. He wasn't on that particular planet. We didn't find anything to show he had been there recently either."
"Prisoners?"
"We captured five. I would have brought you more, sir…but the rebels have a bad habit of not surrendering. When my enemy believes in fighting to the death, I believe in obliging them." Behind Vader, He saw Piett give him a wide-eyed look that blatantly told him to stop talking. Vader stared at him silently a few moments.
"Do you think they may have information, Commander Tharcourt?"
"In general, yes sir. About your pilot, I don't know. I was going to try my hand at questioning them before interrogation, with your leave of course."
"You may do so…if you feel it could benefit our mission." Vader replied. Tharcourt nodded. "I am searching for a ship as well. An old Corellian freighter." He left it at that, prompting Commander Tharcourt to speak.
"There were no freighters in the installation, sir." Drakken answered. "Just a few smaller ships, all of which we scrapped. I will see what the prisoners know though."
"Good. Be sure you do." The dark lord stated. "And one more thing…since you do not look wounded, I can assume your visit to the infirmary was not for your sake."
"No sir." Tharcourt replied. "My ensign was badly injured. I wanted to take her to medical as soon as we got in."
"Instead of going to debriefing."
"Yes." Vader seemed to pause at that answer, and stood there breathing mechanically a few times.
"Commander, do you believe that the well-being of your men is more important than your orders?" Vader asked.
"Frankly sir…sometimes yes. I would never jeopardize a mission, but I would do anything….everything to make sure my men are alright and make it back." He gulped and continued. "Even at the expense of minor orders, sir. I like to think that's what makes my unit as successful as it is." He cast a glance at Piett, who had gone pale in the face, the captain shaking his head to try to stop his friend from, in his mind, signing his own death-warrant. Tharcourt felt an ominous pressure build in the room as Vader raised his right hand, his glove clasped, his thumb and forefinger forming a pincer. Vader raised his arm toward Drakken, then suddenly halted. There was a deadly silence on the bridge for what seemed like an eternity, then Vader slowly dropped his hand to his side. The pressure in the room seemed to fade away.
"You are an odd man, commander." Vader finally stated. "But you are successful…in the way of someone…I once knew." The black-clad figure stepped forward, on his way out of the bridge. He stopped, standing directly beside Tharcourt. Drakken froze. That breathing was so close, so ominous. He looked out of the corner of his eye as Vader's black mask turned slightly towards him. "Be careful….commander." With that vague but simple warning, Lord Vader left the bridge of the ship, leaving behind a shaken Commander Tharcourt and Captain Piett.
"What in the void were you doing…" Piett asked in a quiet, accusatory voice as he stood beside Drakken. "I was certain that was going to be the end of you!"
"So did I." Tharcourt confessed, blinking away the confusion he was feeling.
"He has killed officers for far less than your little insubordinate remark." Piett huffed.
"Maybe…I told him what he wanted to hear." Drakken said with a slight shrug. Piett shook his head and handed him Freya's clothing. "Don't they say that honesty is the best policy?"
"Always the brash one." Piett said. He couldn't help but smile a little. In a lot of ways, his old ensign had never changed. He always spoke his mind, and went ahead with whatever cockamamie plan he had cooked up. And somehow, he had usually been right.
Piett knew that was why Drakken had been stuck in combat roles for all of his career. There was no place for officers like him in the fleet, where rigid discipline and kowtowing were expected and even favored. Not that Tharcourt would want anything less that combat duty. He seemed to thrive on it, and Firmus knew that his old friend would probably even decline advancement to a lofty position in SpecFor operations command if he were offered. In a way, He respected Drakken for all of it. The man was intelligent and strong-willed, and a fighter. Outside of soldiering though, he seemed to have no obvious desires. Tharcourt didn't have any ambition for power or glory, nor did he want or need it. He wasn't just an officer. He was a soldier, blood and bone, and Piett could not picture Drakken without that blaster strapped to his leg, that unimaginative recruit's haircut, and that dusty, barely presentable uniform.
Still, it made the career officer reflect. Two diverging ways, and here they were. Drakken had spoken about the what-if's. What if they had never joined the Empire? What if there had been no Empire? A man like Drakken could only do one thing, and he was too good at it. It wasn't that difficult to imagine him in a role as a warlord or a mercenary. Maybe in charge of a militia or an anti-pirate fleet. No, Piett thought that he himself would have to be the fleet commander. Drakken would hate that. Tharcourt would be the man to lead the assaults. Him and that fury of an ensign he was enamoured with. Piett the pirate hunter captain and Tharcourt his trusty chasseur. It was an amusing fantasy for sure, but best to focus on the real world…
"Well, I'd best go talk to those prisoners and see to my team." Tharcourt said. "And then I'm going to get some sleep."
"Yes. I have my duties to attend to as well." Piett returned. "Congratulations on your mission."
"Thanks." Drakken said. "Don't work too hard, Firmus."
"I'm a ship's C.O." The captain stated. "I get paid to think. I have subordinates to work."
That was...certainly an interesting exchange between Tharcourt and Lord Vader now, wasn't it? Makes you wonder who Tharcourt reminds Vader of. Perhaps a certain brash young padawan?
Freya will be fine, thankfully. I'm sure you guys were worried about her at first. She took a pretty good bump to the noggin descending those stairs. Oh, and the song she sang is "Going Home" by Mary Fahl, a talented Irish singer whom I based Freya's singing voice off of. So if you want to know what Thorne sounds like when she sings, go look up Mary Fahl and be forewarned; you'll be blown away by that haunting voice.
I will try to have another chapter up in the next day or two. I have nothing going on at the moment, so I should have a little spare time to work on this story and my Youtube vids. So until next time, don't touch that dial. Another riveting installment is coming you way soon! Cheerio!