Chapter 7
Tana Yin'Baara muttered to herself as she fumbled for a hydrospanner with twice-gloved fingers. Why did Da have to send her, of all people, out onto the ice plains to fix this blasted machine? And why did it have to be so damn cold? Tana grumbled a few more complaints before she finally managed to obtain a secure-enough grip and turned to the ice-shrouded electronic circuitry before her.
The thing was an old weather beacon modified to work in extreme temperatures. There were dozens of them scattered around the planet to track the unpredictable ice storms that roamed Belsavis' surface during the storm season. The ice storms could wreak havoc with just about any man-made structure, so despite the sturdiness of the Belsavis environmental domes, precautions had to be taken. Otherwise the domes could develop fractures and even breaks, depressurizing the whole thing and exposing the delicate flora inside to lethally cold temperatures. That couldn't happen. It would be bad for business—at least, that's what father always said.
She sighed. Who was she kidding? He was right. She may have only been nineteen cycles old, but she still new the basic tenants of Belsavis economics: if the crop failed, the family would starve for money while they struggled to reseed and rebuild the delicate ecosystem contained in those domes.
Tana started to turn back to the task at hand when something else caught her eye. It appeared like a pillar of fire streaking through the crystal blue sky toward the southern ice plains. She squinted, shading her eyes with one hand so they wouldn't have to focus against that biting wind. Yep, sure enough, it looked to be some sort of meteor burning through the atmosphere.
But that was what puzzled her. This system didn't have an asteroid belt, and cosmic debris was a real rarity. No matter how strange it was, though, she couldn't help but think how interesting a find it would be—that is if it hadn't all burned up in the atmosphere. She cast an indecisive glance at the weather beacon, then back to the meteor. She could spare an hour or two to go check it out. It hadn't landed that far away. Besides, the storm season wasn't for a few more months. The beacon could wait.
With an impish smile, she hurriedly packed up her tools and climbed into her snowspeeder. She started up the dilapidated vehicle as quickly as her cold-numbed fingers would allow and goosed the throttle.
Belsavis' bluish-white landscape seemed to bleed away behind her as the land speeder raced along the thick ice. She had only been traveling for half an hour before she spied a strand of dark black smoke curling up from the direction the asteroid had crashed. But asteroids don't smoke, do they? Whatever the cause, it only made her more eager to get there. She leaned forward in her seat and silently wished the speeder would go faster.
When she finally reached the impact site, her heart jumped into her throat. Instead of a piece of cosmic rock, the still-smoking remains of some kind of starship lay before her. A huge debris-littered furrow had been ripped through the ice and snow when the ship had plowed into the ground. She couldn't believe it was as intact as it was given the evident impact, but there it was.
She popped open the speeder's door and stepped out to get a better look of the ship. Whatever it was, it was evidently a fighter. It was way too small to be anything else. What must have been the cockpit was some kind of sphere, though it didn't look much like that now because it had been hammered and dented into a geometric shape Tana could never have previously imagined. One of its hexagonal wings was still attached, though badly mangled, and a sparking nub was all that remained of its mate. Somehow, the design seemed familiar. A sudden flash of uncharacteristic insight struck her. It was an Imperial starfighter! Tana hadn't noticed it before because it was so beaten up, but that's what it was.
Then, another thought struck her. What about the pilot? Was he still alive? She circled the wreckage, looking for the cockpit canopy. To her dismay, most of the spider-webed glass was face down in the snow, but there appeared to be some sort of egress hatch on the crown of the fighter. She struggled to find a steady perch on the wreckage and reached over to try to jerk the hatch free. It opened up rather easily, and as she looked inside, she found out why. A black-clad figure lay sprawled unmoving against the hull, his thick gloved hands wrapped around the hatch release.
Venka had seen Captain Ygra fall. When the torpedoes hit, the captain had lurched for his command couch, but the resulting concussion knocked him off balance and flung him headlong into the chair's base. The unforgiving durasteel did quite a number on his head. The 2-1B medical droid said he had multiple skull fractures and there was considerable swelling around his brain. It seemed to believe the Captain would pull through, but almost as a precautionary measure, the droid confided in Venka that medical science was "far from infallible."
As he gazed upon the withered husk of a man floating in the bacta tank before him, Venka began to think of how truly fallible the captain had become. A few snub fighters won't stop us? Ha! A few snub fighters destroyed the "invincible" Death Star. He pressed his hands against the glass, feeling the tepid blue glow radiating off the warm liquid. He was in command now, but what about when Ygra healed? The old man clearly wasn't fit to command the Enforcer any longer, but how could Venka convince the other officers of that? His actions had obviously led to the near-destruction of the ship and the loss of half of their fighter compliment. While that was actually only one craft, the loss still hurt their combat effectiveness. Four more crewmen also lost their lives when part of the upper deck was blown away. Their bloated, frozen bodies were still floating somewhere out in space. To make matters worse, the Rebels destroyed the hyper-communication relay satellite before they jumped. With the Enforcer's communication dish down, there was no way they could contact high command before it was repaired.He couldn't allow another catastrophe like this to take place again.
He softly pounded his fist against the glass. Gazing upon the wasted figure slowly bobbing in the bacta, he knew what had to be done. But did he have the strength to do it?
He folded his arms, turning back to the white-armored storm trooper that stood at attention by the door. He leaned back against the glass with a sigh, lowering his chin to his chest in thought. Finally, he looked up to regard the trooper. "Corporal," he said addressing the soldier.
"Yessir?"
Venka licked his lips before replying. "Go ahead and return to your quarters, you're relieved."
"Sir?" he asked in confusion.
Venka raised a hand to wearily massage his temple, "It's been a long day for all of us, Corporal. Get yourself some rest. I can look after the Captain."
"But my Lieutenant said—"
Venka made a dismissive gesture. "My orders supercede your commander's," he said wearily. "Just try to get some rest."
The trooper stood there for a moment as if deciding to follow the order or not, then nodded his assent. He saluted the commander, then strode out the door.
Venka looked back to the bacta tank in a moment of indecisiveness. He gnawed on his lip as looked upon the floating figure, trying to make a decision. He nodded to himself, as he finally made up his mind
"Ah, droid?"
The 2-1B droid whirred into motion from its previously dormant state. It canted its skeletal head in his direction. "Yes sir is there a problem?" it asked in its grating metallic voice. "I have not been alerted any adverse fluctuations in the Captain's health."
Venka shook his head, "No, there is nothing wrong. I was just wondering when you would need to recharge again."
"My next recharge will occur in 11.2 hours. If you do not mind me asking, why do you wish to know, sir?"
"Well, I was just thinking. As long as I am here, you could use the time for a little self-maintenance. I would be sure to revive you if anything comes up."
"I appreciate the offer, sir, but as I'm sure you know, such an activity would be a dereliction of duty. Regulations state that a medical officer or orderly must always be present while a patient is in sick bay."
Venka walked slowly closer to the droid, "But you are the only medically trained unit on board this vessel. When you do have to shut down, there will be no one to attend to sick bay. I'm here now. Why not take advantage of it?" He plastered a friendly smile on his face.
"I can operate for an extended time when provided with a mild recharge, allowing me to keep most of my functions active. You should know that sir."
Venka sighed in almost genuine sorrow. "Droid . . . I had hoped you would be more tractable."
The droid canted its head, managing to convey an expression of confusion despite its lack of facial servos.
Venka plucked a small device from a notch on his belt.
It's eyes seemed to brighten in realization. "Sir! No, I must protest! I—"
He stabbed the button atop the cylindrical deice, and the droid slumped forward, eyes nodes winking out.
A restraining bolt is a beautiful thing, Venka thought with smug satisfaction. He allowed a self-satisfied smile as he turned back to the captain's floating body. It would be a simple thing to cause an "accident" to speed up Captain Ygra's demise, but a part of him balked at the prospect of murder. Was that what this would be? Of course it was. He was taking another man's life in cold blood. But what if this particular man's continued existence jeopardized the lives of the whole crew? No man's life was more important than the life of the Empire, his own included.
The hawk-nosed Commander clenched his fist. He knew what he had to do; for the good of the crew and for the good of the Empire, he had to make sure Captain Ygra never recovered. It would be as simple as shutting off the oxygen flow to the submerged patient, yet despite all his rationalization, he could not get past the feeling of revulsion that churned his stomach when he thought about the deed. What if he was caught? Slaying a member of the Imperial Armed Forces was a capital offense. He probably wouldn't survive long enough to get a trial back on Coruscant.
Then something in his mind finally clicked. He thought of all the revolutionary men who had shaped the modern galaxy, who defied the law because they wanted to change the universe for the better. Did the Emperor balk at raising himself up as dictator when the Senate cried foul? No, of course not. He knew what he was doing would lead to a golden age for the galaxy. He knew what he did was for the greater good of all, just like Venka knew his own actions would be for the greater good of his entire crew. He would just have to avoid being caught.
The only things he had to worry about now would be editing the security system and arranging for a timely memory wipe. His actions would be caught on camera no matter what he did. The only recourse was to make some time to erase part of the record. He had the clearances to do so, but he'd need help. That, of course, could be arranged. He was now, after all, the commanding officer. He seriously doubted anyone would discover the logs before he erased them since they were only used in the investigation of some purported crime on board, and that was a rarity. After all, who would commit such an atrocity on board an Imperial warship?
With that thought a sudden pang of guilt struck him. He closed his eyes and willed it away, then stepped forward to the oxygen controls. He hit the switch. First a dull alarm sounded, warning of a "mechanical failure." He ignored it. Then warnings from the equipment monitoring Ygra's life signs rang out. They fell on deaf ears as Venka passively watched the life slowly ebb out of Captain Ygra. In his shattered state, his body didn't even twitch when the life giving oxygen ceased its flow.
After an appropriate amount of time, he turned the oxygen flow back on and picked up his commlink. There was still business to attend to.
