Chapter 16
The door to Tilyer's quarters slid open with a soft hiss, allowing light from the corridor to stream into the darkened chamber like a sudden dawn rising over a barren world. With his dark form silhouetted in the squared frame of daybreak, Tilyer reached inward, feeling around the wall until he found the light switch. With but a flick, the subsequent flood of light eradicated the darkness, revealing the clean yet spartan room he had grown all-too familiar with in these past few weeks. His bed was still made, his datapads were still sitting upon the desk, and his uniform was still neatly folded upon the bunk, but it was as if he was seeing them in a new light for the first time. Perhaps he had simply been gone for too long and the cramped quarters no longer felt like home, but for some reason, the room—and even the entire ship for that matter—didn't feel the same as when he had first left.
Tilyer sighed and passed through the threshold, tossing his duffle onto the bunk. He stripped off his jacket and began to undress when an object upon his desk caught his eye: a small metallic disk barely the size of his palm. He smiled, his thoughts immediately going to his parents, the one small refuge from the bleak world he had found himself in. Quickly he crossed the short distance to the desk and picked up the projector unit.
He was eager to see them—or see them as he had before; before joining the Empire, before coming aboard the Enforcer, before his crash upon Belsavis. In reflection, he supposed that that was the reason for having holos in the first place. They were the one thing that could freeze an image—an emotion—in everlasting time. Memory was a poor substitute because it became tainted with future knowledge, future deeds, and future mistakes. But in holos, the innocence of the moment could be preserved. The Tilyer contained within the small disk he held in his hands didn't have to worry about who the "bad guy" was. That Tilyer knew for sure. That Tilyer was confident that he knew the greatest truth of the universe. He knew who to hate.
But this Tilyer knew nothing. He was awash in a sea of doubt and confusion.
He stabbed desperately at the button upon the side of the disk, almost as if trying to plunge his knife-like finger into the heart of doubt throbbing within his chest. He eagerly watched for the picturesque portrait that would invert itself above the device in his hand, hoping that it would once more come into clear focus and reaffirm the rock his life had been built upon like it had been before, unlike the last time when he had come back from the cold void of space to find his room and his thoughts turned inside out.
This time was different, though not in the way Tilyer had hoped. The device wouldn't even emit a single faded pixel. There was no sound, no soft whine to announce the projector's demise, not even a flash of light as the emitter died. It just ceased to work—if it had even worked correctly at all.
Tilyer gave a distraught sigh and tossed the disk back onto the desk with a hollow clatter.
"Once again, I'd like to welcome you back to the Enforcer, Flight Officer Raan." Commander Venka steepled his fingers and leveled his cool gaze at Tilyer where he sat across the table from him.
Tilyer glanced over to where Linia sat, datapad in hand as she recorded debriefing proceedings. "Thank you sir. It feels good to be back," he lied.
Venka nodded, lifting another datapad from the desk. "I'm sure you know why we're here, so let us get down to business. I would like to start with a full account of your captivity on Belsavis."
Tilyer licked his lips, folding his hands in his lap before beginning. He told him everything, about the crash, about Oltan and Tana, about Dr. Vorst, even about his flight into the silk fields—most of it, anyway.
When he finished, Commander Venka waited for Linia to finish tapping out commands on her datapad before continuing. "You mentioned a discussion with a one," he glanced down at his own pad, "Tana Yin'Bara?"
Tilyer swallowed hard, trying to get past the lump of dread forming in his throat. "Yes sir."
"And this discussion prompted your, ah, flight into the jungle?"
"Well, you could say that, sir."
"What was it she said that agitated you so?"
Tilyer fidgeted uncomfortably. "We had some . . . ideological differences."
"About what?" Venka asked, leaning over the table.
Linia glanced to Tilyer uncertainly.
Tilyer sighed, "About rebels. She said something about how they were 'nicer'" than the Empire."
Venka narrowed his eyes, "That borders on treason. What else did Miss Yin'Bara say?"
He shook his head, "I don't know, nothing else important, but I don't know Commander. The way she said it . . . " Tilyer trailed off, not wanting to say anything else.
Venka was silent a moment before the realization dawned on him. "She knew they were there. She knew about the rebels. They all knew."
"What? No, at least . . . I don't think so. I mean, if they were rebel sympathizers, would they have bothered to rescue me after the crash, or even return me to the Enforcer?"
"But they knew about them. They knew about them, and they said nothing. Their actions jeopardized the lives of every member of this crew." He stood, shaking his head angrily.
Tilyer was quiet. He wanted to protest, but in a certain way what Venka said was true. "But Sir, they didn't do anything specifically wrong . . ."
Venka paused, leveling his ire-filled gaze at him. "I didn't take you for the stupid type, Flight Officer Raan. It's called criminal negligence, and it most definitely is something wrong. Whether directly or indirectly, they caused the deaths of multiple soldiers of the Imperial Navy."
"What are you going to do?" Tilyer asked uncertainly, the lump forming in his throat now a full-fledged knot.
"What was the name of the settlement that kept you in captivity?"
"Sir, I don't see—"
"The name, Flight Officer Raan," Venka barked, cutting Tilyer off.
He swallowed hard. "Green Ten."
"Very Well. Ensign Taulin, copy down these orders and relay them to the rest of the crew."
Linia punched up a new utility on the pad and looked up to Commander Venka. "I'm ready, Sir."
"As soon as repairs are complete and the Enforcer is fully operational, all hands are to report to battle stations in order to initiate a sustained orbital bombardment upon agro-dome Green Ten."
"For how long Sir?" Linia asked timidly.
"As long as it takes to reduce it to rubble."
"What? Sir, you can't!" Tilyer protested.
"They're criminals, Raan," Venka shot back, "common, back-stabbing criminals who will do anything for their own advantage. I've taken and oath—as have you and every other crewman on this vessel—to protect the Empire from the rabble out there that would ruin our new order for its own gain. What would you have me do? Do you want me to give them a medal for saving you, for caring for an honest soldier as any decent citizen should be expected to do? They have committed a crime against this Empire, Flight Office Raan, and they shall be punished accordingly." He paused as if daring Tilyer to say anything more.
"They just want to be left alone."
"I've made my decision, Flight Officer. Continue with this nonsense and I will throw you in the brig for insubordination."
Tilyer glanced toward Linia, looking for some kind of moral support, but she refused to meet his gaze. He opened his mouth to say something else but stopped himself. Instead he swallowed—swallowed his pride and his conscience—and nodded obediently.
