Chapter 17
Commander Venka stood at the makeshift podium erected in the Enforcer's cramped ceremonial chamber. Behind him, the cool blue orb of Belsavis could be seen through the bulkhead windows rotating lazily in its wide orbit around the sun. The door to the airlock at his back was open, shedding a faint red light across the pristine room.
"I thank you all for coming," Commander Venka intoned, letting his gaze pass over the eyes of each of the assembled officers.
To Tilyer, their olive-gray dress uniforms seemed especially sinister in contrast with the pristine white walls around them. Each one of them was almost a carbon copy of the other, like the product of a machine mindlessly stamping out soldiers from a cast-iron mold. Up until a few days ago, he supposed he too could have been counted among them, but the course of recent events had broken the mold into which he had been cast. It was as if he were looking upon the world with new eyes, this world—this Empire—that he had aspired to for so long, and as he gazed upon the casket laid on the deck before him, the only feelings he could conjure up were ones of intense regret and disdain.
"I understand this is a trying time for all of us," Venka continued, "but it is most heartening to see all of you here to pay your last respects to a beloved member of our crew. Lieutenant Urtis Dusat was perhaps one of the most noble and duty-bound men I have ever known. He performed his duty to the utmost of his ability, and my only regret is that his life had to end so soon."
Whatever differences the two officers may have had, Tilyer had to agree with Venka in this regard. He again let his vision drift from the podium to the steel-gray casket at his feet. Dusat was the model officer, the ideal to which Tilyer had aspired. Tilyer had never been able to reach that standard, to actually be the self-sufficient, capable, and charming officer like he had wanted, but Urtis embodied it all. His death was a true shame, almost like the death of innocence in Tilyer's own mind about the nature of his vaunted Empire. What made it worse was the fact that instead of dying from the blaster of some anonymous foe, he had taken his life with his own hand. Something had happened to the man during Tilyer's absence, of that much he was certain. Whatever had shattered Urtis' sense of self-assurance, whatever could have shaken his convictions so gravely, that force must have been powerful indeed. If it could drive so poised a man as Urtis Dusat to suicide, Tilyer shuddered to think what that knowledge would do to him. Part of him wondered if he had already hit upon the truth, but another part of him, a part lodged deep in the back of his mind, told him that his revelations were but the tip of the iceberg.
What made it even more troubling was the fact that the inhabitants of Belsavis would have to pay for it. What would Mikal think of it all? His brother had joined the Empire to make a difference to those who needed it, to be a part of something bigger than he could ever be by himself. But a part of this? Was this the grand cause bigger than the man himself? Tilyer couldn't believe that. If anything, what was happening around him was beneath the memory of his brother—that memory that had spurred him into joining the Empire in the first place. In some ways, he felt as if he was cheapening his brother's memory by blindly clinging to the Empire's lauded image.
Tilyer didn't know who was to blame for the misfortunes that had befallen the Enforcer, but he knew for sure that Tana, Oltan, and the rest of the men and women of Belsavis were not. He had to do something to help them, but what?
"Lieutenant Dusat's death came as a shock to us all," Commander Venka continued, "but I believe I can safely say that it will never be forgotten."
Linia couldn't disagree with him. His death had certainly been a shock, especially since she had been the one to find him. Seeing that pale body slowly swinging back and forth in the darkness, she had to struggle to keep from emptying the contents of her stomach all over the deck; but it wasn't just the sight of the dead that upset her so. It was the knowledge that this corpse had once been a man she called a friend. It was the knowledge that he had expunged his own life while she waited impotently for his arrival in the mess hall. Most of all, it was the knowledge that she should have seen it all coming. Suddenly it all clicked: the evasive attitude, the morose complexion. All the signs had been there before, and she had innocently brushed them off without further thought. Perhaps if she had notified the commander, he could have put him in the infirmary, given him counseling, could have had him do something other than wallow in his own depression. It made her sick to her stomach to think that she had the power to do something, and instead she did absolutely nothing.
"His memory will live on in each and every one of you, and in the collective memory of this galactic Empire. We may pause if only for a minute to recognize the passing of our own, but after this moment of reflection has passed, we must take up the sword of war once more. We must continue to struggle against the foes that would seek to topple this glorious Empire, but we must also never forget the fellow soldiers who fell to protect it."
Whatever Venka may have thought, Linia didn't want to remember this day. She didn't want to remember that body swaying in the darkness. She wanted to remember him as he was before, as he was born to be, but she couldn't. The past had irrevocably changed her perceptions of him forever.
Linia averted her eyes from the casket, looking across the room to where Tilyer stood, his jaw clenched staring out the window into space. If Urtis' death had even phased him, the young officer didn't show it. Still, he had changed. She couldn't put her finger on it, but something about him was different. She just hoped this change wouldn't bring the same end to Tilyer as it had to Urtis.
Venka gave a heartfelt sigh. "In the face of this great tragedy, I ask that you all remain resolute in our cause and the duties you have sworn to perform. The best way we can honor Lieutenant Dusat's memory is by seeing to our responsibilities—to the defense of this Empire—as he would have done."
Lieutenant Del'Goren stifled a humorless laugh. An officer of the Imperial Navy killed himself, and all Venka could talk about was honor and duty, like the man died in some great cosmic struggle. He tried to play it off like his death meant something, like he spent his life in the name of the Emperor. But he hadn't. Lieutenant Dusat had been slain by tying a belt around his neck and hanging from it until he choked to death. That wasn't honor, and that surely wasn't duty.
Lieutenant Del'Goren only knew Dusat professionally, but the man just didn't fit the profile of a depressively suicidal maniac. He didn't know for sure why the young man killed himself, or if he even did it himself, but he did know that there was more to the story than anyone let on. There was no way to prove it, but Del'Goren had the sneaking suspicion that it had something to do with Commander Venka. First he murdered the Captain and now Dusat. The conniving bastard may not have actually done it himself, but he damn sure had a hand in it.
But again, he couldn't prove any of it. It was all just a feeling in the pit of his stomach. Still, he hadn't survived this long as a TIE fighter pilot by not heeding his instincts. In the future there would be an opportunity to make things right, of that much he was certain. He just had to be patient.
"Now there is only thing left for us to do in order to put his body, his spirit, and his memory to rest. Thus, I commit this mortal coil to the embrace of the cosmos. May his essence live on in some small measure through this interment in space's timeless walls."
Venka turned and activated the airlock panel. The pall bearers approached Dusat's casket, taking up the steel-gray box and sanctimoniously inserting it into the airlock. They stepped back, and Commander Venka closed the lock once more. A grinding clank sounded through the bulkhead as the outer doors opened and the casket floated forth. The assembled officers turned toward the view port, watching as Lieutenant Dusat's earthly remains drifted into view.
Venka watched with no small measure of regret as the drifting casket silhouetted against the Belsavis' silvery face. Despite all the eloquence of his speech, no words could do justice to the anguish he felt in his heart—anguish over the knowledge that yet another officer of the Imperial navy had died because of him. He hadn't physically strung Dusat up and watched him dangle as the life slowly drained out of him, but he might as well have. The young man was so in love with his idyllic notion of the Empire, that the truth simply shattered him.
In retrospect Venka knew that he should not have involved him, but he also knew that he could not have dismissed the incident with Captain Ygra without Dusat's help. It had to be done, he told himself. Dusat's death was regrettable, but if it meant that an able bodied leader would remain at the helm of the Enforcer, then so be it. In times of war, sacrifices had to be made. The Empire could not afford to conduct its affairs as it always had. It could not remain a stagnant nation if it expected to survive the Rebellion. Their way of doing things had to change with the times, and Venka had to change with it.
The deaths of the fallen were regrettable, but their sacrifices would soon be made worthwhile. He would root out the rebellious elements still hiding on Belsavis and ensure that this derelict world never rise up against the Emperor again.
