"Arriving at destination in T-Minus five minutes, sir." The pilot announced over the speaker in the passenger compartment of the shuttle. Tharcourt glanced at Daraay a moment and shrugged. He hadn't expected to be summoned to a meeting with Grand Moff Tarkin. It had been a strange and difficult couple of days.
His team's mission on board The Devastator had proven their efficiency in working in tandem with regular forces, but it had also led to the death of one of his troopers. Maybe he was making too much of the situation. It was bound to happen…he was destined to lose men at one point or another, but he took every loss personally.
These weren't just nameless soldiers in some large regiment or company. Delta-7 was small. So small that every member couldn't help but develop a bond with one another. They all saw each other not just as fellow soldiers, but as true comrades, and Commander Tharcourt felt the same way about them. He had picked these men for the qualities they possessed, and they had all not only proven themselves, but had all become part of a strange family. And that's what Delta-7 had become; an odd fraternity. And now the inevitable had happened; one was dead.
The team had gathered in the lounge of their little headquarters aboard The Accuser once they had returned. Tharcourt produced the ID tag he had taken from Walker's body. He sat it on a table, pulled out a bottle of spotchka, and they had spent the next hour telling stories about their fallen brother. Even Daraay had broken her usual stern silence and had spoken about the time Walker (Who hadn't seen her without her helmet up until that point), had finally asked her a strange question.
"Uh…I'm sorry, but I can't take it anymore. What are you?" He'd asked.
"A death trooper." She had answered simply. "Specifically trained for close protection of persons of importance to the Imperial government."
"N…no…I mean…" Walker had stammered. "You a…man…or…" He looked a little worried. "Aren't you like all…dead and everything? How do they keep you from rotting? Is it the creepy science stuff they use on you guys?" Daraay had said that she couldn't keep from finding it somewhat funny.
"I am not that decayed. At least not yet." She'd answered, actually playing a small joke on the stormtrooper."
"Oh..." He stated.
"Would you like to see?" She had asked him. Walker's eyes had gotten as big as plates.
"Nonono…that's not…necessary." He'd quickly blurted out. The death trooper sergeant quickly grabbed her helmet, broke its seal, and lifted it off to find Walker with his eyes clamped shut. "Didn't see it…didn't see it…" He shouted, then opened his eyes slowly. "Huh." He then commented, relaxing completely. "You don't look half bad for a corpse." When she finished her story, the entire room had burst into laughter. It had been oddly cathartic.
Tharcourt sighed. He leaned back, peering out of a small viewport in the bay. They had been travelling for some time, having passed through some sort of asteroid field a few minutes earlier. There was nothing out here to arrive at that he could discern. He looked about for a ship or spaceport but still, all he could see in the tract of space in front of them was some small moon or planetoid, pale against the blackness of empty space. Where were they going? To his eyes, there wasn't anything out here for thousands of kilometers.
"Huh." He commented. "What are we arriving at? I was told 'an orbital platform', but…" He scanned space outside of the window again. "Doesn't seem to be one…just some small rogue moon or something." Daraay leaned back and looked out the window on her side for a few seconds.
"Yes sir." She replied. "We are approaching Imperial orbital battle station DS-1…codename Stardust." Tharcourt stared at the small planetoid, growing larger and larger as they neared.
"You mean…" He looked back to the death trooper, then back to the enormous spherical ship.
"Yes sir." She stated. "That is no moon. It is a space station." They flew closer, and the commander could begin making out features of the moon-like object. There was a sort of open canyon at its equator, running completely around the gigantic orb. On its northern hemisphere, if that's what it was called, there was what looked initially like a crater. Now that he was able to see it up close, he realized that it was some sort of enormous parabolic dish build into the hull of the…what was it his bodyguard had called it…the DS-1.
"You knew about this thing?" Tharcourt queried. Daraay's helmet turned from the viewport to her commander.
"Yes sir. Project Stardust has been under development for nearly twenty years. It was and still is deemed a classified operation. I was stationed onboard for a short while during the construction as part of a security force under Director Orson Krennic." Commander Tharcourt just looked back out the viewport. Now, he couldn't even see the totality of the massive ship, just a wall of grey metal.
"Well…" He commented dryly. "It's big." The shuttle entered the canyon, and inside, Tharcourt could see that the opening served as quite possibly the largest hanger he had ever seen, and he had been to Kuat and Corellia. Two Gozanti-Class Imperial Freighters sat side-by-side, hammering home how truly vast even just the docking area was. Their shuttle was slowing, and Tharcourt felt the hum of the ship's hydraulic system as it folded the wings of the small ship.
They soon found themselves exiting the shuttle, stepping off of the ramp and into the DS-1. Commander Tharcourt looked around inquisitively, taking in this massive space station. To his knowledge, The Empire had just constructed the largest moving object in all of history. He had to admit that it was impressive, despite his cynical nature. Daraay kept in her position just to his rear as she always did. It seemed so unnecessary, having a protection detail aboard such a ship. Every base, every vehicle, every vessel had a weakness, but for the life of him, Tharcourt couldn't imagine what such a weakness would be on a battle station this large.
"You know where we're going?" The commander asked sardonically, looking up at the ceiling of the hangar, suspended at least one hundred meters above. Probably more.
"Negative." Sergeant Daraay answered. "The last time I was here, I only saw this hangar, a tram, and a secured area outside of the main reactor core where I was stationed."
"And?" Tharcourt enquired, raising an eyebrow.
"And then two months later, I left sir." She answered. "Via the tram and this hangar."
"Like visiting a planet, and only seeing the spaceport." Tharcourt commented. Just then, a grey-clad officer approached and saluted smartly. The commander returned the salute.
"Commander Tharcourt." The officer greeted. "I am to take you to see Grand Moff Tarkin at once."
"Good, captain." Tharcourt replied. "Fellow could get lost trying to find his way down the hall in an installation this big."
"It requires some getting used to, commander…that's for sure." The officer returned as he began to lead Tharcourt and Daraay across the room to a small speeder-like transport. "I'm not ashamed to admit that I don't even know where anything is below this deck. It makes a Star Destroyer look like a landing craft." The captain motioned to the transport, and the three climbed aboard. The driver immediately began to maneuver the small craft through the hanger.
"It's hard to imagine…" Tharcourt thought out-loud. "Being stationed on a ship that's…pretty much a man-made planet." The captain chuckled.
"I understand you are in Imperial Special Forces, commander." The officer said. "Combat assignment?" Tharcourt looked at a squadron of TIE fighters as the transport coasted by them.
"Yes." The commander answered. "And lots of assignments. All classified." The captain chuckled again and leaned in closer.
"What a job, eh? I'm not terribly envious." He stated. "I'd rather be here. Much safer." They climbed off of the speeder, and onto a turbolift. The cylindrical lift shot upwards, leaving the hanger behind.
"This ship is impressive…" Tharcourt commented, just trying to drum up some conversation on the long and tedious ride in the lift. "What are its capabilities…offensively?" The captain merely raised an eyebrow and grinned.
"I cannot say at the moment, commander." The officer stated. "But from what I understand, the offensive capabilities of this vessel will be revealed to the galaxy soon. We've already tested the main weapons system…just earlier this morning, in fact. I can say that it was…impressive to say the least."
They soon stepped off of the turbolift, and into another, which moved horizontally instead of up-and-down inside the massive vessel. After another ride of 4 minutes, and more small-talk, they left this conveyance, and took a normal turbolift down a few levels. Commander Tharcourt thought of his earlier comment. A person could easily get lost in this thing, even just wandering onto a deck they weren't familiar with. He was led down a hall by the captain. They stopped near a large door.
"Governor Tarkin is through that hatch. I will wait here until you are finished." The captain said with a nod. "Also, your guard will have to wait here as well." Being in each other's almost-constant company for so long, Tharcourt had become very familiar with Sergeant Daraay's quirks. When she shifted a bit, he could read that she was uncomfortable with this procedure.
"It's alright." He stated. "Wait here, sergeant. I'll be out in a few minutes."
"Yes sir." Daraay said with a nod, and placed her back against the wall on the right side of the doorway, her rifle held at port-arms. She opened the door, and the commander dipped his head to the captain, then marched into the room, his arms clasped behind him as always.
He found himself in a very large but very dimly-lit room, which appeared to be some sort of observation deck. On the far wall that Commander Tharcourt now faced was a round window, large and imposing, looking out into space. Standing between Tharcourt and the window, backlit by the ambient light that filtered through the transperasteel was Tarkin. The Grand Moff stood like some stone statue of a military leader of old, his arms behind him, his legs shoulder width apart. He looked as though he had anticipated Tharcourt's arrival, and had intentionally posed himself to look as commanding as possible. Perhaps he had…
"Governor Tarkin." Tharcourt greeted with a salute. Tarkin returned the gesture. "You wanted to see me, sir?"
"Yes." The Imperial Grand Moff simply stated, then turned back to the giant rotund window. He crossed his arms behind him again and stood solidly in place, the very picture of a proud captain navigating his starship. After a few moments, he spoke again. "I may have been mistaken about you, Commander." Tarkin said.
"Sir?" Commander Tharcourt still stood a respectful distance away, wondering what the elderly Imperial leader was getting at.
"I wanted to see if you were as good as your word. If you really had the resolve…the sheer force of will to do as you had written in your paper." Tarkin explained. "I had my doubts, of course. Too few men in this galaxy of ours who truly commit to the hunt in all of its aspects. Too many soldiers. Not enough warriors."
"Yes sir." Tharcourt answered, if only because he felt he had to.
"I have kept up with your missions, commander." Moff Tarkin continued. "You had some trouble at first, but once you got a feel for your quarry's habits and instinct, you showed a commendable talent for the pursuit, and a ruthless capacity for the kill, didn't you?" Tarkin spun about, and walked slowly to Commander Tharcourt. He scoffed. "You were right and I was wrong. There, I said it." Tarkin commented. "I am not disappointed though. I'm quite pleased to be in the company of another hunter." He smiled arrogantly. "Though you still have much to learn."
"In age there is wisdom, governor." Tharcourt said with a nod.
"Indeed. In fact…you remind me a little of myself when I was younger. Though by your age, I had already proven myself as an efficient guardian and leader." He paused a moment. "Not that you are not, commander. I think in fact, that you will become quite the apparatus for dispensing with these small, rebel irritants. Perhaps even earning the favor of our Lord Emperor himself in time."
"I just do my job, Governor Tarkin." Tharcourt stated.
"Humble. But a cunning and savage animal on the field of battle." Moff Tarkin commented. "You are interesting, commander."
"Mm. I don't think I'm too humble myself. Or savage. Just a professional soldier, sir." Tharcourt returned. He was already not enjoying this conversation. He'd expected either a congratulations or a reprimand from Tarkin for something. At the worst, the Grand Moff to want to execute him or something. Drakken certainly hadn't counted on standing in this ludicrously enormous space station while Grand Moff Tarkin patted him on the head for being a good child and killing people. As if on cue, the governor continued.
"Do you ever freeze in battle, commander?"
"In the heat of it…I think I'm well past that, governor." Tharcourt returned. It seemed like a callous question, like when some kid runs up and asks how many people you've killed in war. "Why do you ask?" The last bit came out rather too harshly for a commander speaking to a Grand Moff.
"Hm. Simply because not many have the will to overcome the silly morals which restrain them." The governor elucidated. "Many otherwise efficient soldiers and officers make the mistake of allowing their fear or hubris to lead to their defeat. Others…well they stay their hand at their moment of victory because they pity…or sympathize with their foe. They are restrained by the weakness of…dare I say…humanity." When Tharcourt didn't reply, Tarkin took it as agreement and continued. "You ever see a predator in the wild, commander?"
"Yes sir. The boetay." Tharcourt answered. Tarkin perked up an eyebrow. The commander explained. "Um…it's a large canid predator on Garos IV. As a young boy, I watched one kill a hojvok in the woods." He remembered that day…back on his homeworld. It was so long ago. He vaguely wondered what it looked like now.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" Tarkin mused. "Terrible, primal and beautiful. What you saw was a predator with no moral compunctions, doing what it was built to do. We…a species far above a baser creature like that in intellect only, have mastered this galaxy. But we still often lack the ability to do what is necessary."
"You mean…to kill, sir."
"Of course. To be a perfect predator is to kill to survive." Tarkin said matter-of-factly. "And men like us are predators." He nodded with a little smug smile. "We're not so different, you and I." He turned to the window again. "I look forward to seeing more of your accomplishments in the future. Meanwhile…" He paused a moment. "I have this battle station to attend to. I'm certain you've heard of the destruction of Alderaan."
"Yes…you mean to tell me that this…"
"Indeed so." Tarken answered cruelly. "Just a taste of this station's capabilities. Once the rebels realize that the Empire now has the ability to annihilate an entire world in a moment's time, I'm certain that the dissident systems will all step into line. And what pitiful bands of rebels that remain can be quickly squashed with the hammer that is your team and similar units now being deployed. Soon the Empire will finally be able to consolidate its power, and no one can stand against us." Tarkin smiled proudly. "We, commander…are on the verge of conquest."
Commander Tharcourt was dumbfounded. He knew Tarkin's record. He knew well the governor's ruthlessness and brutality. The razing of entire towns to staunch rebels. The destruction of an orbital refueling station and its workers during the pursuit of a stolen ship, and now the total obliteration of a planet full of sentient beings…as what had the captain called it? A test of the DS-1's weapon system. Tarkin cared nothing for life. Tharcourt had always found his approach to warfare lacking. The governor would kill a thousand innocents to eliminate a dozen foes, creating ten-thousand more foes. And the Grand Moff…the titular head of the Imperial military had just spoken like Tharcourt was his apt pupil.
"I…I am pleased to be a part of it…sir." The commander said. He was. He truly was with all of his being. He was a professional soldier, a student of war, and had been all of his life. It was his career and his pastime, his profession and his extracurricular diversion. He was proud…but now he wasn't at the same time. Commander Drakken Tharcourt wasn't a cold-blooded murderer. He wasn't just some animal who mindlessly stalked prey and butchered it, irrelevant to his quarry's innocence or deserving…was he? What did Tarkin see in him that reminded the apathetic and methodical killer of rebels (and everyone within a system of where they stood) of himself? He was distracted by a beep from somewhere nearby. Tarkin had produced a communicator from his belt.
"Yes?" The governor spoke.
"Governor Tarkin…" A voice spoke through the device. "We are picking up a ship coming out of hyperspace near the former location of Alderaan." Tarkin glanced at Tharcourt.
"I'm certain you can see yourself out, commander."
Commander Tharcourt followed the captain, whose name he hadn't bothered to ask, back through the network of lifts on their way back to the main hanger bay. As they moved from area to area, Tharcourt began to notice stormtroopers in the corridors. Squads of them, some led by uniformed officers seemed to be moving with intent down the halls. On a couple of occasions, the troopers were moving at a brisk pace past the two visitors and the officer with them. It became quickly apparent that something was happening.
"Captain, is there something I should be aware of?" Tharcourt finally asked. "Are we under attack?"
"Attack?" The captain replied dismissively. "Nonsense. We just picked up a derelict freighter, commander. It is suspected that someone aboard snuck onto the DS-1, and we are in the process of locating them. Shouldn't be too much of a bother."
"Captain, it's the rebel you don't see that gets you." Tharcourt advised.
"Ahh…" The captain hushed with an indifferent wave of his hand. "This isn't some chaotic battlefield after all…we have hundreds of thousands of personnel aboard, and the latest in sensors and remote weaponry. A single rebel wouldn't make it five minutes aboard this ship." Tharcourt wanted to ask 'How long has the stowaway been missing', but it wasn't worth the debate. He at least had to agree with Tarkin on one point; these desk officers suffered from the disease of complacency. They let their arrogance lead them into mistakes that could prove fatal. He turned his head to the right.
"Still…be on guard, sergeant." He stated.
"At all times, sir." She answered. They took the last turbolift of their journey, down to the main hanger, and disembarked. The hanger was full of activity now. The commander could see several platoons of stormtroopers, searching ships, stacks of crates and every nook and corner of the massive bay. A heavy blaster on a tripod was being set up overlooking the entirety of the space. There was definitely a manhunt underway, and after hearing the egotism displayed by Tarkin and the captain, Tharcourt was in no mood to volunteer to assist them. He would let them find the stowaways on their own. They hopped a transport speeder and were taken to their shuttle, which was now guarded by two stormtroopers. As Tharcourt climbed down from the small craft, one of the troopers saluted.
"No unauthorized persons have entered your shuttle, sir." The stormtrooper reported. "And it has been scanned for lifeforms to ensure your safety."
"Thank you, soldier." The commander returned. Something was amiss. This was too much security, too much mobilization for just a lone fugitive aboard the station. Even if they were a dangerous rebel, this seemed to be overkill. That is, unless the situation was more complicated and perilous than he'd been informed of. Giving the proclivities of high command to make a mockery of the words 'military intelligence', he assumed this was the case.
"Sergeant Daraay, could you help me check the ship?" Tharcourt asked, unsnapping the retention strap of his holstered blaster pistol. "Check for organics, droids, explosives. Be thorough."
"Yes sir." She answered, and moved up the ramp, her blaster rifle held at the ready. The commander followed her into the shuttle, and they gave the vessel a systematic once-over, even asking the two pilots their names and operating numbers to be on the safe side. Satisfied, Tharcourt raised the ramp, and ordered the pilots to take off, and make for The Accuser. Once they had left the DS-1 and began their hour-long journey back to their mothership, Tharcourt threw off his uniform cap and sighed.
The things Tarkin had said to him still gnawed on his mind. How many enemy combatants had he been responsible for killing since Delta-7 was created? By his count, between twenty-five and thirty. He had executed the rebel woman on the enemy corvette himself. Then there was Mimban. He didn't know how many of the Mimbanese fighters he had killed personally. Twenty? Thirty? His platoon was almost overrun, surrounded, deep inside of enemy lines, and with no hope of backup. It had been fight to the death or be captured. And they had fought. For the Empire, right? No…it hadn't been for the Empire that day. It hadn't been for glory or for conquest or any of that regurgitated tripe. It had been for survival, to keep each other alive…just to get out of there and live to see another day. Is that what Tarkin had meant? To be a perfect predator is to kill to survive.
He knew that, of course. In battle, you had to kill. You had to out-think and outgun your enemy. Period. And if you develop a talent for that, you become a professional soldier. It wasn't about being cruel, and eradicating innocent people for the crimes of their neighbors. It wasn't about collateral damage. It was about precision and efficiency. Necessary killing not ruthless slaughter. Where was the line drawn? When it was ordered? When a foe was going to do something in the near future? When the end justified the means? This was Moff Tarkin's way of thinking. Not Tharcourt's. Still…
"Sir?" Daraay asked from her bench. "Are you feeling well?" The commander looked up at his sergeant, his mind a torrent of questions.
"Sergeant…" He began in a low voice. He reached over and switched off the speaker to the cockpit, and locked the access door to the passenger bay. "Am I a…good commander?" The death trooper was silent a moment.
"By your record, and your success on our missions…I would have to say that you are an exceptional field commander, sir." She answered. He rubbed his face. That was incredibly too Tarkin-esque for his psyche.
"I meant…am I a good person, Daraay?"
"I…I'm not skilled at determining things like that, sir." She replied.
"I think you are." Tharcourt commented. "You are human in the end, despite your…conditioning." There was a long silence. Sergeant Daraay removed her helmet and sat it beside her. The super-soldier stared at her commander, and an uncommon expression crossed her face. She had a slight look of compassion.
"I am trained to be detached, sir." She stated. "I follow orders."
"So do I…" Tharcourt muttered reflectively. "But I don't know. What if that makes me a terrible person sometimes?" He huffed. "What if I am ordered to do bad things…and I do them for so long that I'm no longer the person I used to be?"
"We're part of the Empire." She answered. "And we have to sacrifice for the good of the Empire…that is what I was taught. Good soldiers follow orders." Daraay stated dogmatically. Tharcourt looked at his bodyguard as if he didn't like that answer one bit.
"What if…you were ordered to kill someone who wasn't a threat?" He posed.
"I would trust that it would be a necessary action, sir." Daraay returned.
"What if…" Tharcourt continued tiredly, "The person who issued the order…made a mistake…what if the person you are killing is an innocent person? Or…what if the person in charge ordered the kill out of revenge or anger, and not out of necessity. Would it still be an order you would follow?" The death trooper paused. She had never thought about that. She had never been trained to think about that contingency.
"I know you would not give such an order sir." She muttered. "I…trust in that."
"I would not give that order..." He whispered. "Even if I were given the order." He shook his head. "We are professional soldiers, Daraay. But if I can help it, I will try to make sure that you can all look at yourselves in the mirror at the end of the day."
"Maybe sir…you are a good person." Sergeant Daraay remarked. "And a good commander."
"Am I?" He asked wistfully.
"I will stay at your side and follow your orders without compromise, sir." She finally said. "And my mission is to protect you, even at the cost of my own life if need be." She scoffed. Meeka knew that she was supposed to be unfeeling, to act on duty alone. She also recognized the feelings and opinions she had started developing over the course of her assignment with this team which sometimes caused conflict in her mind. And more, her commander seemed to have a knack for sensing what his people were thinking or feeling, even with her. "With your permission, sir…after serving with you for two months, I would be glad to do so without orders."
"Why?" The commander simply inquired.
"You are a good leader." She replied, and paused a moment. "And I think you…care…about your subordinates." This was difficult for her, trying to ambiguate in her mind concepts like this, after being taught not to question…well anything. "I have never seen an officer who is…so much like his men. I haven't seen one who is willing to lead from the front, or to simply talk with his troopers. And it works, sir. You are proof that it works." She looked sideways, trying to assemble her thoughts and feelings into coherent words. "I have to admit, commander…I am honored to serve under you."
"Sergeant…" Tharcourt returned, "I am honored to serve with you."
Looks like Commander Tharcourt has more of a conscience than what befits an Imperial officer, eh? When someone like Tarkin gives you the whole "We're not so different, you and I" speech, it tends to make one reflect on their actions a bit. What lies in store next for the commander and his team? Will Freya break under the iron fist of her commanding officer? Will a death trooper grow a personality? All this and more on the way, so keep it locked in right here, folks. Until next chapter, Cheerio, my friends. -Drake