Captain Kareeda Raliss sat at her desk, bored. She despised being bored. There was always something to do, always something that needed improvement, some interrogation or execution to attend to, or oversee. Unless there wasn't. Like this morning. And it was in those rare moments that the forty-three-year-old Coruscanti officer could almost feel her blood begin to boil. She slowly and methodically twirled a code cylinder around the fingers of her right hand, and stared at the back of Lieutenant Drier as he worked on copying screen after screen of files. She huffed.
It had indeed been dreary. At least the little primitive would be coming into work soon. She was always fun to play with, Raliss mused. She had allowed Thorne to have the previous day off, and it was unfortunately necessary to give the feeble-willed ensign that. The captain understood the mind, better than many would give her credit for. You can only push a person's psyche so far; you could only hammer on someone's willpower so much before their mind destructed catastrophically. She couldn't afford to have another ensign completely break and do what the last one had.
The wretch had been more high-strung than Raliss had initially supposed. She tried to work with the ensign, a miserable urchin of a girl from some probably unnamed rock on the Outer Rim, but the creature's will just couldn't handle being reconstructed. The ensign had taken a blaster, retired to her quarters and promptly removed the top of her skull. It had taken the orderlies a week to clean the mess completely. At least they'd gotten the smell out before her latest project had moved in.
This one showed more promise. Ensign Thorne's record showed that she was very skilled in unarmed combat. That sort of person could in theory do well in interrogation. Those versed in hand-to-hand techniques…at least the ones who were good at it, already knew enough about biology to know well how to target the weakest parts of the body for maximum effect. This girl had also apparently grown up on some savage world where even the children were taught how to fight. Raliss had expected a barbarian. Most of the sub-human beings from the Outer Rim were. She hadn't expected a silly, bright-eyed child. She had taken one look at her new ensign, and had almost groaned at the amount of work that would have to be put into this girl before she could be of any benefit.
Prisoner interrogation and disposal. That was Captain Kareeda Raliss' job, and she did it well. It was a unique and complicated occupation. Every prisoner was different, or at least there were different personality types among captives. One had to know which technique worked best to extract the information desired from them. For some, you simply had to break their bodies until they cracked. Others, you had to give them false hope mixed with mental stress. Some, you had to use their families or friends against them, taking away everything they held dear. But they usually broke. To do this job, you had to enjoy it. And Raliss truly enjoyed her job.
There was nothing like the thrill she got when a prisoner finally broke…that intensely exhilarating moment following the emotional and physical buildup of a good session of questioning. And it was all made better if the buildup could be made to last. It had been comparable with Ensign Thorne. Breaking her will, slowly and furtively, was so satisfying. Raliss knew that the young woman had spirit. That just made it all the more fun, to make Thorne demean herself, to push her to submit and see how long she would acquiesce to Raliss' commands, how far she would go to please her superior and be a good little soldier. On the days that Raliss had no detainees to challenge her skill, she at least had Thorne to keep her entertained. Making the ensign stand at salute for minutes at a time in that trampy little outfit of hers was always a fun pastime. Thorne was so cute when she groveled.
"Good morning, ma'am." The object of her latest train of thought said as she strode into the room. The ensign came to attention and saluted. Raliss was a little perturbed. Perhaps giving her leave had been a bad idea. Thorne seemed a little cheerful today. Hopefully, it was a setback that could be easily remedied.
"I see you enjoyed yourself on your day off, ensign." Raliss returned. She almost loathed calling this girl by her rank. What was the near-perfect and mighty Galactic Empire thinking, letting Outer-Rim savages like this into their officer's corps? Why did they ever kowtow to backwards thinking races, letting them retain their ridiculous clothes? The Mandalorians were bad enough, strutting about in their archaic armor like it still meant something. Letting some girl wear a disgraceful short skirt and have such untamed, attention-grabbing hair while in uniform, that was almost an embarrassment to the Empire. Her hair meant so much. Hmm…that would be a good place to start the game.
"I see you still have that unruly tangle of hair." Raliss spoke. She stood from her chair. Thorne started to lower her hand and go back to at ease. "I did not give you permission to move, Thorne!" The captain barked, and Thorne came back to salute. "Let you go for a day, and you forget how to behave."
"I'm s…sorry, ma'am." The girl responded. Raliss walked around her and halted.
"Now, as I was saying…I assumed you would take the opportunity to make your hair more presentable." Thorne didn't answer. Raliss noticed her hand shaking a little. Good. She had struck a nerve. "Do you plan on cutting your hair, Ensign Thorne?"
"N…no m'am." Thorne answered nervously.
"And why not? Don't you think it would make you more professional looking, or does such things not matter to you?"
"It…I…" Thorne stammered. Raliss smiled. This hadn't taken long. It was almost dull.
"You what, Thorne?" Raliss demanded. "Have you forgotten how to speak basic?"
"No ma'am." Thorne replied. "It's just…I have permission to keep me hair long…"
"And what if I ordered you to cut it?" Raliss asked. Had this been too much too soon?
"I…don't think…I could, ma'am." Thorne said. Her voice was squeaking, and Raliss heard a soft sniffle. Raliss was now both pleased that she had already gotten inside Thorne's psyche, as well as angry that her subordinate would not be willing to follow a direct order. She had worked so hard to correct that.
"An order is not a request, ensign." Raliss stated coldly. "Cut…your…hair." Now she could see the girl was trembling. Yes…this would break her spirit, or at least bring her close to it.
"N…no…ma'am." Thorne whimpered. Raliss felt her cheeks growing warm. Had Thorne just refused a direct order?
"What…did you say to me, Thorne?" The captain demanded, her voice like crackling ice. She heard another whimper, maybe a repressed sob.
"I said…no ma'am." Thorne shot back, almost defiantly. "I will not cut my hair, ma'am." Raliss could hardly control herself. She was livid. How dare this insolent little rat talk back to her like that? She grabbed the ensign at the base of her head by the tail of ugly, curly hair she loved so much, gripping it hard enough that Thorne let out a short cry of pain. Raliss placed her mouth next to the ensign's left ear.
"Do you realize what I could have done to you for that little insubordinate outburst, little girl?" Raliss spat. Thorne had her teeth clenched, and her eyes clamped shut, barely allowing tears to run free. "Do you know what I could do to you?" To her surprise, Thorne cracked open her eyes a little, and she saw the ensign's green eyes staring into hers boldly.
"Kriffin' show me then, ma'am." Thorne whispered. "But I won't cut me feckin' 'air." Lieutenant Drier calmly plucked a tablet off of his desk just before Thorne's head impacted the spot it had been. Thorne let out a scream as Captain Rallis jerked her head upward, then slammed it against the desk again. Rallis leaned in close again.
"Don't you ever talk back to me like that again, Thorne. Do you understand me?" The captain growled. She twisted her grip on Freya's hair, resulting in a shrill cry of pain. "Do you understand?" Thorne was sobbing uncontrollably now, and Rallis drew a small vibroknife from the back of her belt. She repositioned her grip on Thorne's tresses, holding onto the tail of her hair, just below the green band that restrained it. Raliss placed the blade under Thorne's hair without activating the weapon.
Freya felt the pressure of the blade, and at the same time, she felt Captain Rallis press herself against her hard. It was so terrifying, so humiliating, and she felt sick. This wasn't happening. A Breohan's hair was so much. It showed their age and maturity. It was a sign of beauty. It was almost a symbol of that person's chastity and being ready for a serious relationship. Now Raliss was about to hack her hair completely off.
"Answer me, or I will cut this entire mess of garbage off of your head!" Raliss shouted. Freya knew what she had to do.
"No!" Thorne screamed. "I understand! I understand! Please ma'am! Please!"
"Please what, you worthless, disrespectful brat?"
"Please don't cut it off! Please don't ma'am. I'll do anything ye ask o' me! I swear! Just please don't cut me hair off!" Rallis was still for a moment. Freya felt the blade leave her hair and her captain's grip on her release. She was still frozen with fear, and lay across Drier's desk sobbing. She cast a momentary glance upward to see the lieutenant working away at his terminal, as if nothing were out of the ordinary. She felt Captain Raliss pull away from her, but still didn't move.
"You will do as I ask?" Raliss inquired, her voice calm and low now.
"Anything, ma'am." Thorne answered.
"Interesting." Raliss commented. "Very well. You can keep that mane of yours…for now. In return, and for punishment for your insubordinate attitude, you will polish the walls of this office. And you will not leave this room until you are done. Am I understood?"
"Aye. Yes ma'am." Thorne squeaked.
"Good. Now get up off of Drier's desk. You look like a harlot."
…
Commander Tharcourt watched his new unit sniper leave the office to go get acquainted with the other members of Delta-7, which now included Dall the team medic, and two scout troopers whom Felian had personally vouched for. Gallen was definitely a curious man, but his record spoke for itself. Not to mention when Tharcourt had asked him if he had a letter of recommendation, Gallen had handed him a sabaac card with four holes punched through the center, not 2 centimeters from each other. Scribbled on the card was 300 meters. Now, Tharcourt held up the card and looked at the holes as he sat behind his desk.
"The best sharpshooter in the Imperial Army…" The commander commented, slapping his left hand with the playing card. He opened a drawer and tossed the card inside. The team now had seven members including himself. He mentally shuffled through the different skill sets the men possessed; one expert tracker, one stealth fighter, and one long range shooter. He had a medic, and two scout riders who were fast on the blaster, and faster on speederbikes. He now needed a driver, a thief, and a linguist. The commander had assured that his unit would be an unconventional one, and he was surely delivering on that promise. Hopefully, the next candidates would be as promising as this first batch. A knock at his door.
"Yes?" Tharcourt called.
"Your next applicant, sir." Felain answered as he opened the commander's door. A stormtrooper walked in and stood before the desk at a vague attempt at attention.
"EK-868, sir." The stormtrooper greeted without all of the usual pomp and saluting. Tharcourt smiled suspiciously.
"You are the Corellian." Tharcourt guessed.
"Yes sir." The trooper answered.
"I read your file, trooper. You made corporal, then got busted back down…twice." The commander stated in an amused tone. "Spent some time in the brig too."
"I um…I may have committed some, infractions, sir…" EK-868 said regretfully. Tharcourt raised an eyebrow.
"Hm…like stealing a holovid projector from an Imperial recreation hall…" The officer goaded. "…smuggling spice into an installation, while it was under lockdown, I might add. Oh, and my personal favorite, somehow getting through a restricted area and bypassing security measures on and stealing a civilian freighter from a docking bay…while it was being worked on." Tharcourt stared at the stormtrooper as if he were demanding some sort of explanation.
"I um…I got leave sir, and I didn't have transport off-world." 868 reasoned. "It was a dump of a ship. It made it two parsecs before the sublights gave out. The owner should've been glad to have it stolen. The insurance was worth more than the ship." Commander Tharcourt held up a hand, and the trooper became silent.
"You know why I called you in here, trooper"
"No sir." 868 answered. "Wait…is this…a court martial?"
"No, trooper…" The commander returned. "You were about to be, but somebody convinced command to send you to me instead. And I'm not as interested in all the things you were caught for as I am the things you got away with."
"Sir?"
"How many types of ships can you fly?" The commander asked, seemingly out of the blue. "Just curious."
"Honestly, sir…If I haven't flown one before…I can usually figure it out pretty quick."
"And I take it you can splice…pretty good at getting into places you shouldn't be?" Tharcourt continued. "Be honest. You're not in trouble."
"I'm not?" The trooper asked, sounding a little surprised through his voice modulator. "Well, if that's the case, then yeah…I can um…open a few doors."
"Hmm. What's your name?"
"It's on my file, sir." The shifty stormtrooper answered. Tharcourt held up a datapad.
"You wrote 'Mymomma The Hutt when you signed your enlistment papers, trooper!" Tharcourt exclaimed incredulously. He heard a faint snicker through the trooper's helmet.
"I may have had to…use a bit of a pseudonym sir…warrants…"
"Corellia."
"Corellia."
"Well…" Tharcourt sighed. "I'm not calling you Mister Hutt. So what do you go by?"
"Ekks…sir" The stormtrooper answered. "Has a nice ring to it, don't you think?" Now the commander was beginning to like this trooper. He was brash, resourceful, and was the closest thing he could find to a smuggler or outright pirate. It was time to test the waters.
"Let's say…hypothetically…that you needed a group of people to go around and do sneak attacks on an enemy. You needed to gather intel, maybe infiltrate on occasion, maybe even use enemy ships and weapons." Tharcourt explained. "You would want men with different skill sets to be able to handle whatever unique challenges presented themselves."
"Sounds like some bounty hunter or mercenary outfit." The trooper commented. "If not a group of rebels."
"Rebels…" Tharcourt repeated. "Yes, the rebels have become too good at stealing Imperial ships, weapons and electronics. They have infiltrated our bases and garrisons on occasion, and made off with uniforms and critical data. That's how they have managed to become so successful…so far. They have some crafty and larcenous operatives in their ranks."
"I suppose, commander." Ekks remarked, wondering what this had to do with him. This had become the strangest conversation the young trooper had ever had with an officer since had joined the Imperial Navy four years ago. He watched the commander lean forward over his desk.
"Now, what if I wanted to steal a rebel ship? What if I wanted to lift some discs of classified rebel information?" He asked wryly, rubbing his hands together lightly with a conspiratorial grin on his face. "What if…I needed a thief?" There was a moment of silence, then the trooper slowly lifted off his helmet. Tharcourt studied the man's features.
Ekks looked to be in his early-to-mid-twenties, with grey eyes, brown hair and a stubble of beard that would never pass regulations. The young man bore a large scar over his left eye, no doubt from a scuffle earlier in life. He had the look of a professional scoundrel, and Tharcourt could easily picture him in some smoky, dimly-lit sabacc hall somewhere. The maverick stormtrooper gave a cocky grin.
"Then I guess I'm your guy, sir."
Poor Thorne. She can't seem to get a break, huh? That Raliss is a poor officer if you ask me. Who would you rather serve under? Tharcourt, Raliss, Thorne or old Piett? Send me your answers. Ekks finally gets his intro in this chapter too. I had a few people read this story before it went to final edit and posting, and they all unanimously loved the roguish Corellian. Gallen is one of my favorited to write personally, and I admittedly had Owen Wilson in mind when I wrote his parts. I'll try to get another chapter up later tonight. So until then, fav and review. Your input is important to me, my loyal readers. Until next time my friends, Cheerio! -Drake