The bridge of the Fury was brightly lit and bustling with activity as the Imperial-class Star Destroyer received its final preparations. On either side of the broad catwalk, running the length of the bridge were parallel trenches swarming with technicians and maintenance personnel doing last minute repairs and upgrades. Several red and white astromechs were busy on the main deck near the back of the bridge, replacing old or faulty parts and repairing power nodes. Part of the ship's maintenance protocols required such repairs; a combat situation was not the place to have an old power relay blow out.
Presiding over the repairs was much of the senior command. Some strolled up and down the catwalk, hands folded behind their backs, stopping every so often to watch a repair in progress or ask a question. Several carried datapads that they would glance at occasionally as they watched the technicians.
One of the officers was Captain Aiden Mar, a short, slender man with sandy-blond hair and a thin, neatly trimmed mustache. His deep-set brown eyes sparkled with a cool intelligence as he surveyed the work being done on his ship. An Imperial veteran who'd seen his share of battles during the Clone Wars, he projected an air of confidence.
"Welcome aboard, Commander Paradas," he said as she stepped off the turbolift. "We're making final arrangements now for departure and should depart within the hour."
She saluted him. "Pleasure to be aboard, sir. Junior Commander Jaslin Paradas, Adjunct to Inquisitor Nilas, reporting for duty."
"At ease, Commander," he said, smiling. "I've heard good things about you. Graduated at the top of your class, if I recall."
She flushed in discomfort. "Er, yes, sir."
"This is the First Officer, Senior Commander Wes Baxian," he continued, introducing her to a tall, dark-haired man with blue eyes and the slightest hint of a grin.
From what she recalled from the personnel files she'd been forced to go through prior to being given this mission, Baxian was a bit eccentric, but had an encyclopedic-knowledge of tactics and strategy that was on par with most theater admirals.
"Sir," she said, nodding.
"Good to meet you," he said, offering a perfunctory salute. "From what I've read in your file, you'll make a fine addition to the crew. Welcome aboard."
"Thank you, sir."
"Inquisitor Nilas left orders for you to join him in the aft cargo hold," the Captain said. "You're to report to him first thing. Just a formality, I'm sure."
"Of course, sir." She saluted and left.
The door to the aft cargo bay was a massive blast door at the far end of a staging area full of crates and cargo containers being off-loaded from flat-bed airspeeders. From there, they were carted into the cargo bay by repulsor skiffs and binary load lifters to be delivered to their final location.
The aft cargo bay itself was huge, at least thirty meters tall, one hundred and fifty meters long, and fifty meters wide. Along its sides were balconies at each level, beyond which were individual storage bays three meters high, five meters wide, and ten meters deep, each equipped with their own sets of blast doors. Cargo skiff would pull up next to a balcony in front of a storage bay, and binary load lifters would unload the cargo. Turbolifts for personnel connected each level at the ends of the tiers.
Noise filled the bay, a cacophony of machines and people as the final foodstuffs, water, and other supplies were hauled into place. She made his way to one of the turbo lifts connecting each level, darting around several binary load lifters, and quickly entered. The doors closed, and silence fell.
Her destination was in the top corner, and as she went up, she felt the Star Destroyer's primary engines rumble to life through the deck of the turbolift. The cargo bay sat directly above the main engine turbine, so it was going to start getting warm at the top level.
The door opened, and the noise of repulsor-craft and mag-lev cranes moving about washed over her, as did the heat. It was like being on some tropical planet. She made her way to the designated bay, whose doors were open.
Inside, it was nearly empty except for a single long table on top of which were a series of hand-held scanners that a 2-1B medical droid was arranging and activating. The floor was conspicuously covered in plastic.
Next to the table was Nilas, a tall, powerfully built man with short dark hair that had patches of gray on the sides. His face was broad an angular, and had the look of chiseled granite. Gray blue eyes stared out beneath heavy lids, and had fine lines at their corners. He work the crimson cloak of an Inquisitor, his black pants tucked neatly into combat boots. He also wore a black, long-sleeve shirt made of cher-silk. His aurodium belt buckle was engraved with the ancient Sith ideogram for Victory, and only a lightsaber hung from his belt on the left side.
Jaslin could feel the anger washing over him through the Force, and noted uneasily his frown. "Junior Commander Jaslin Paradas, reporting for duty, sir!" She went to one knee and saluted. "My Lord, what is your bidding?"
He sighed, and she could see him cross his arms out of the corner of her eye as he walked around her and closed the doors. "You're late, Commander." His voice was deep but silken, and there was a slight edge to it.
She stiffened, and quickly clamped down on stray thoughts that could betray her. "I am sorry, my Lord. It will not happen again."
"Stand up and put your bag on the table."
"Yes, my Lord." She did as he asked without hesitation. She knew this part was coming, and steeled herself. Nilas was a paranoid Inquisitor, prone to eliminate anyone he suspected of being a turncoat. He would arrange her death to look as though it was an accident, she was sure.
"If you are the ISB agent, you will die."
"ISB, my Lord?"
"Yes, a sleeper agent. The medical droid is going to scan you for subcutaneous implants and other devices. Remove your clothing and place it on the table."
Feeling the heat rise to her face, she did as instructed, even removing the bandages pressing flat her small breasts. Any hesitation, she knew, would be seen by him as a sign of guilt. She would do what she had to do, though, no matter what was asked.
Moments later, she stood before him wearing only a frown that she was struggling to repress as she stared distantly above his head.
"I do apologize for the discomfort, Commander. I am not heartless, but I must be certain," he said, smiling but maintaining eye contact and never once letting his eyes drop. He gestured to the droid. "Proceed."
"Please hold still," the medical droid said in its calm voice. It picked up a long, narrow scanner resembling a black plastoid rod, and began slowly passing it over her back. "Arms out, please."
Her blush spread to her chest, but she did as instructed.
While she was being scanned by the droid, Nilas went through her clothing, looking for anything sewn into the seams or pockets. "Why were you late, Paradas?" he asked mildly.
"I wasn't, my Lord."
"Tardiness is a pet peeve of mine." He examined her chrono. "This is a very expensive time-piece. Very elegant. Something not normally worn by officers."
"A graduation gift from my parents."
"Lift your right leg, please," the droid said.
She did, then lifted the other as the droid moved between limbs.
Nilas frowned as he examined his chrono and compared it to hers. "My chrono is off. Objection withdrawn." He pressed the reset button on his chrono, which received its time from the ship's computer. It beeped, and the time jumped forward nine minutes, then turned back to her. "What is that gem?"
She sensed a flash of anger in him, but his thoughts were veiled. "A gift I had given my brother on his last life day," she answered quietly. The pea-sized gem was on an aurodium chain and hung between her breasts.
"As my apprentice, you will be expected to train," he said, going through her duffel bag and laying out each item neatly. "Two hours every morning, with a focus on lightsaber combat. Most of your work will be intelligence gathering." He stared at her flatly. "There will be no secrets between us. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, my Lord."
He finished his inspection and looked up at her. "You object to the scanning because you think it's intrusive?"
"No, my Lord."
"One can never be too careful when it comes to the ISB," he said, walking around her to examine her more closely. "Scan the gem," he told the droid.
"You may relax," the droid told her. It adjusted the scanner and passed it over the gem. After a moment, the droid lowered the scanner. "The gem is a Kiffu Heart-of-Fire," it said, "of approximately two-point-oh-four carat weight."
"You enlisted on Ywllandr, and were sent to Ord Mynock for basic training. Why did you put in a request to transfer to Carida?"
"I wanted to be a stormtrooper, my Lord," she answered, the sadness of her dreams being ashes washing over her.
He chuckled. "Not just any stormtrooper. You sought to become a member of the Five Hundred and First. Such ambition in one so young should have been commended. Instead, you were transferred to Prefsbelt."
"Yes, my Lord," she murmured more quietly. "You read my file?"
"Memorized it," he answered matter-of-factly. "You showed a remarkable gift for engineering and piloting. Explains the transfer, though I imagine that did not meet your approval." He grinned, slowly circling her. "You also also received several reprimands for insubordination regarding TIE fighter designs."
"Yes, they're trash, my Lord."
He laughed. "Something you and I agree on. Sienar is interested in profit, and the Empire has enough money to waste on bad designs. However, that ended up costing you. Two entire years to break your individuality. Tsk. And to think, you wasted all that pain on getting a tattoo in violation of Imperial regulations." He ran his fingers lightly over her left shoulder blade, and the tattoo of the katarn. "Beautiful ink work."
"Thank you, my Lord."
"Personally, I don't care how you choose to adorn your skin, and I'm glad you chose the katarn because it is a symbol of power and prestige. I'm sure the instructors at Prefsbelt must have been equally enamored."
She grinned slightly. "Not entirely, my Lord." They'd had her running laps for weeks for that stunt, and she'd done so in a camisole top to show it off just to shove it in their faces.
"Where did you get it done?"
"On Prefsbelt, my Lord. One of the itinerant merchants."
"My scans indicate she is free of implants," the droid said, walking back behind the table. "However, she is slightly anemic, which may be caused by her addi—"
"That's fine," he said, cutting the droid off. "I'm not interested in her diet." He turned his attention back to her. "So, the Five-Oh-One, huh?"
"Yes, my Lord," she said, some anger rising in her at the painful memories. "I've wanted to be a stormtrooper ever since I was little. I should have been transferred to Carida, my Lord."
"Dangerous business, second-guessing one's superiors," he murmured softly, raising an eyebrow.
"I am sorry, my Lord. It didn't seem fair at the time."
"Life isn't fair," he said, stepping close behind her. "Anger breeds ambition, not necessarily a bad thing. I can teach you how to harness that anger and level the playing field."
"Yes, my Lord."
"I can show you power you would have never been able to achieve with the Five Hundred and First Legion. With them, you would have simply been a tool for Vader to use. With me, you will be the hand that wields such tools." He lightly touched both her shoulders and leaned in closely to whisper, "Forget the Five Hundred and First. They are unworthy of your talents, and if Vader wasn't wise enough to recruit one as dedicated as you, then why waste your tears over them? The Force delivered you here for a reason."
"Yes, my Lord." The irony was painful; she was still a tool of Vader, just not one of her choosing, but certainly one to her everlasting shame.
"Every Star Destroyer has an ISB sleeper agent," he said, coming back around again to stand next to the medical droid. "The ISB does this to ensure that in the event of mutiny, a Star Destroyer doesn't fall into enemy hands, and that agent is the only person outside of senior command able to access bridge commands that initiate self-destruct protocols." She knew all this, having been informed of this during her signals training on Yaga Minor. It was something only the most senior command officers were briefed on, though they were never given the identity of the agent; that remained an inviolable secret.
"Your duty, then, is to ferret out this sleeper agent and simply monitor their activity," he continued. "I'll not have a rat onboard my ship, and I will disseminate information in such a way as to keep them in the dark. If you killed the agent, they'd simply replace them, and I'd have to spend months finding them again. We will instead use them to allow the ISB to learn only what we want them to."
"Understood, my Lord." She would do whatever it took, she knew, to get that next fix, and she hated herself a little bit for it.
"You may get dressed," he said, waving his hand and returning her things to her bag neatly.
"Thank you, my Lord." Whatever he had decided, she had apparently passed her test. The relief was palpable, but she dare not let herself taste it yet.
He handed her the bag. "Come along, then, Paradas," he said, heading to the door. "I'll show you to your quarters."
The officer quarters were located on the Senior Command deck, which required a special clearance code to reach. Located two decks below the level of the bridge, the corridor ran the width of the superstructure, with turbo lifts in the center. Her quarters were on the forward side of the corridor on the port side face of the superstructure, positioned right below the auxiliary sensor array. Nilas' quarters were opposite of hers, on the starboard side. Between them were the Captain and First Officer quarters, a large conference room, a droid bay, several smaller cabins belonging to the Chief Engineer and Chief of Security, and a large chamber Nilas had converted into a training room.
When they stepped out of the turbolift, the corridor to the left was occupied only by a meter-tall droid resembling a three-dimensional trapezoid of white plastoid, with yellow and black cation tape along its base. It hummed along, buffing the black deck plates to a high gloss.
"We will train every morning for two hours," he said as they walked. "We'll focus on lightsaber combat for now, but in time, we will also work on your control over the flow of the Force." When they arrived at her door, he directed her to open it.
She inserted her code cylinder and the door hissed open.
Inside was a small sitting room. Along the left bulkhead was a comfortable-looking beige couch with an end table on both sides of it, and a white plastoid kaf table in front of it. Along the right bulkhead was a large view screen with a control panel next to it and recessed bookshelves below it. In the right corner was a recessed desk with a padded chair in front of it. Straight ahead was a large window a meter tall and three meters wide that looked out on onto the prow of the ship. In the far left corner was a door that lead to her sleeping quarters, which featured another window just above her bunk, with a large closet to the left of the door, and another door beyond that which lead to a private refresher room.
"Wow," she said, looking around in surprise as she turned the lights on.
"A little more comfortable than what you were used to on Prefsbelt, no doubt," he said.
"Indeed," she said, setting her bag on the bunk and already looking for hiding places to secret her ryll kor.
His comlink chimed. "My Lord," the Captain's voice said, "we are ready to depart."
"Very good," he answered. "I'll be there momentarily." He opened the door. "Come along, Paradas. Let's go see to our maiden voyage."
So much for settling in, she thought to herself. Still, the chance to get to see the disembarkation process was enough of a thrill for her to overcome her desire to simply sit and enjoy her buzz.
The bridge was no longer brightly lit, and all save the crewmen and several senior command officers were present. Captain Aiden stood near the front of the bridge, his hands folded behind his back as he looked out the window. Next to him was the First Officer. The docking arm had been withdrawn and all final preparations had been made.
"Proceed, Captain," Nilas said, joining him at the front.
Paradas stood to the side of him and back aways, taking in the view. So far, Nilas hadn't been that bad, but she had absolutely zero doubt that he already had already planted cameras in her quarters. She would purge them without hesitation.
Her head was light and she felt as though she was flying as she looked out the window. Valens was supposed to be one of the helmsman, she remembered.
"Ensign Koble, are all mooring tethers away?"
"Aye, sir," a young, pimply-faced crewman answered from the port-side trench.
"Ensign Valens, take us out at quarter-speed, level on the bow-plane."
"Aye, sir!" Valens answered. "All-ahead, quarter-speed, bow-plane on the level!"
Paradas startled at the name. Sure enough, there he was, unaware he was standing next to someone he compared to a filthy Twi'lek.
"Lieutenant Dormon, activate the concussion shields," the Captain said.
"Activating concussion shields," a young Kuati man said from the starboard trench. An alarm sounded once, and the lights on the bridge dimmed. "Concussion shields are online and green across the board!"
She watched as the Fury pulled away from the station. The engine rumble vibrated through the deck as they picked up speed.
"We are clear of the station!" Ensign Koble announced.
"Increase our speed to two-thirds and come about to—" the Captain started to say, pausing to glance at the galactic compass above the window, "—one-seven-three-mark-five, ten degrees positive on the bow-plane."
"Conn, new heading," Ensign Valens called out, "one-seven-three-mark-five, ten degrees positive on the bow-plane. All-ahead two-thirds!"
"Status report, Ensign Koble. All stations check in."
"Aye, sir. Stand by," the young officer called out. "Weapons, check. Shield generators, check. Flight deck, check. Engineering, check. Sensors, check. Life support, check. The bridge is green, sir!"
"How soon until we pass out of Bilbringi's gravity well?"
"Thirty seconds at current speed, sir!"
"When we clear, level the bow-plane and prepare the ship for a jump to hyperspace."
"Aye, sir," both Lieutenant Domon and Ensign Valens said.
Several moments later, Ensign Koble said, "We are clear of Bilbringi's gravity well."
"Leveling the bow-plane!" Ensign Valens said. "Ship is level as she goes!"
Paradas could remember the first time she learned about galactic navigation. Space was a three-dimensional medium, not unlike traveling through the atmosphere of a planet, only without the visual cues of the ground below, or more importantly, gravity, to give a sense of orientation. So instead, an imaginary plane had been drawn through the center of the galaxy horizontally to establish "up" and "down."
Diving below or climbing above the galactic plane was indicated by negative or positive increments of the bow-plane, or the "nose" of the ship. Horizontal orientation was established by running an imaginary line from the "northern" edge of the galaxy to the "southern" edge through Coruscant. That meridian divided the galaxy into two halves of one hundred and eighty degrees each. Zero was true "north," and one hundred eighty was true "south."
Thus, the Fury was headed "south-southeast," and had climbed above the galactic plane before leveling off.
"Lieutenant Ivers," the Captain said, looking at an astrogation chart on his datapad, "plot a hyperspace jump to the Bengat System."
"Aye, sir!" a dark-skinned officer said from the middle of the starboard trench.
By the time they drew near to Coruscant, she was going to try to have saved a tiny bit extra of her spice, and that way, she'd be able to counter any issues with her re-supply. She'd keep her eye on Nilas, and guard her thoughts around him at all times. He was dangerous, she could sense that much, and the assignment he had given her would at least give her ample opportunity to be away from him. It was all she could do to calm her fear.
The star field twisted, and they jumped to light speed. She tried not to giggle at the sensation; she was in way over her head.