A/N: Patrick O'Kane (the actor for Captain Tritt Opan) is 50 at time of TFA/TLJ. I tend to say that people in a galaxy far, far away are longer-lived than people in the real world, if the character has regular access to high quality health care. Tritt would have been on his first assignment during the loss of DS-1 (the first Death Star) and a five-year veteran when all goes down at DS2/Battle of Endor. Interestingly, Armitage Hux was born the same year the DS-1 blew up. Peavey is ten or so years older than Opan. Ships, events, and places listed in this chapter are canon, aside from Opan's past as an intelligence officer. Also, don't ask me how a Navy officer like Opan is on the staff of an Army general like Hux. That's canon as well, so that's how it is.

"Where were you when it all went down?" Peavey asked. He was heavily into the liquor he had unwisely allowed Captain Tritt Opan to supply for their private conversation. It was strong and high quality, but the alcohol was only there to cover the interrogation serum.

"Which time?" Opan had taken a hefty dose of a neutralizing agent beforehand, a gross concoction of charcoal and soda, but even so he felt more loquacious than normal.

Peavey smiled slightly. "The first. Are you old enough for that?"

Tritt showed him a few teeth. It wasn't a smile. "Mimban. I was a petty officer at the time. Fresh out of the academy. Just in time to get shoved in the mud."

"I've heard that was a rough place. What was the Navy doing there?"

"Air support for what was left of the poor fucks in the trenches. All I was doing was making sure the mechs had all the nuts and bolts they needed. That, and trying not to drown." This was not true. He'd been fresh out of the academy all right, but he'd been in intelligence, not supply. There had been no shortage of work for his specialty.

"Ah. No claim of heroics?"

Tritt laughed. "What would I want those for? Good heroes are dead heroes. I just did my job. The DS-1 blew and we were out of there. Reassigned. I was on Arkanis when the second one went. I was, um, conscripted onto the Eviscerator when the imperial forces were pulled out ahead of the Siege, after someone higher up decided the place was a lost cause."

"Didn't they lose the Eviscerator over Jakku just a few months later?"

"Yeah. Speaking of lost causes." Tritt took a long drink. "Some people made it to escape pods." He tipped his half-empty glass in Peavey's direction. "You can go down with the ship. Not me. Drink up. You're falling behind."

Peavey grimaced, but drank. "Who picked you up?"

"The Acidity."

"Hm. Where did they go? I don't recall the provenance for that one."

"Queluhan Nebula. Sloane met up with us later and we integrated with the First Order. Wasn't called that then."

"No, it was still the Imperial Fleet in those days." Peavey leaned back, saying it in a dreamy way. Clearly he wished it was still the Imperial Fleet.

"Yep. Then the First Order was formed and we all got commissioned. Officers for life, eh?" Tritt gave Peavey a knowing smile, because the conversion had been one from career soldiers earning a wage to mandatory service until death or victory. Not everyone was on board with it, but there were precious few choices offered.

Peavey positively growled at the reminder.

Opan continued, "Once that happened, I looked up Brendol Hux because I'd run across him in social circles on Arkanis – playing cards, mostly – and I ended up transferring to his staff for a while. We drifted apart toward the end. I was a lieutenant in charge of supplies for the Downs and he was either running that academy or out slave harvesting. He pulled me along on a couple of those."

This was another lie. Tritt had spent most of his time afield, cultivating ties with the slave traders Brendol bought from. But the job on paper? That was supply, same as his cover story for Mimban. Brendol Hux and his allies had seen to it that what amounted to Internal Affairs or Internal Security was not publicly known. But the easiest way to fend off questions about his past was to get his version of the story out first. No one bothered to ask if they thought they already had the answers.

Peavey said, "And now you're working for his son. Did you look him up, too? Come looking for another Hux to serve? He was crazed, you know – the older one."

"Oh, I know." Tritt shook his head though. "Armitage called me. Offered me a step up. I'd made commander. Now I could make captain. Plus, I was tired of being stuck planetside." Also, he'd had few side jobs once Snoke showed up – eliminating half his customers and scaring the crap out of the rest. As Armitage had pointed out, having a telepath in charge of things changed the game.

"What do you think of him?" Peavey asked. "The boy?"

Tritt shrugged. He gave Peavey a sly smile.

Peavey smiled back. "Yeah, that's what I thought." Tritt's smile turned into a feral grin and Peavey laughed, seeing what he wanted there. "How do you take him seriously?" he said loosely. There was no way a sober and non-drugged Edrison Peavey would have ever said this much to someone he knew so little.

"I knew him when he was a kid," Tritt said. "Pinch-faced and vicious, no manners to speak of, spoke like an illiterate sand rat. Which didn't match the rest of him at all. He was always in a uniform of some kind, hair in order, clean enough. So until he opened his mouth, you might think he was just another kid."

"He hasn't changed much," Peavey said with a rueful belly chuckle. "Not underneath. You can see it. He's a desperate little popinjay. Parading around with no sense for how others see him. He acts ridiculous." He pretended to pound the table once. "I ask again - how do you work for him? You don't strike me as a lickspittle."

"Oh, I just let it go. Like you said, his father was the same way. It's no skin off my back. How much does he bother you?"

Peavey snorted, deep enough in his cups to answer without resistance. "It's not the orders he gives. It's just the look of him. That sneer! He's always looking down his nose at everyone and for no reason at all that I can tell. He acts like we should all be impressed by him, but there's nothing about him that's better than anyone else. He just happened to be the son of a general with a few more connections than most of us."

"Maybe so," Tritt agreed. "Brass begets brass."

Peavey gave one of several routine answers for the call-and-response: "And iron sharpens iron." Then he went on, "Snoke seems to have taken a liking to him. Though from what I've heard, that's not an honor anyone wants." Peavey sat forward in a sudden lurch as he got an idea. "There's another rumor I've heard – that when they get Snoke's flagship done, they're going to gut the rest of the fleet, take fifty percent – half! – of the working crews and transfer them to this new ship, the Supremacy, and backfill the fleet with subadults. Subadults! Have you heard that?"

Tritt nodded, although he had, as a matter of fact, not heard that rumor. But it matched up with some of the curriculum changes Governor Cridan had been pushing for cadets on the Downs.

"Sub-adults. Subs! Do you know what a sub is?"

"Yep." Tritt gave him a smug, satisfied look.

Peavey blinked at him, hesitating. "You have a dirty mind, sir." He pointed at him like one might point at a naughty child.

"And proud of it."

Peavey seemed to consider that, then went on undaunted. "Well, they might be that, too. Who knows? But they're a substandard substitute for a real soldier, that's what they are. I'm expected to put this ship in their hands? Half of my crew to be children? Under a general who's not much better? Pah!" Peavey was getting loud and wobbly. Tritt knew he needed to move this along to what he really needed to know while the man was still capable of stringing together words.

"You ever think about doing anything about it?"

"What?" Peavey looked genuinely confused. "Do? What could I do? Send them back?"

"No," Opan shrugged one shoulder. "I don't know. Just something. Anything."

"Uh …" Peavey looked at his glass dumbly. "This stuff's really strong."

"Yeah." Opan helpfully poured more. "I love using this stuff."

"I didn't want more."

"Well, there you have it anyway." Tritt leaned forward. "Have you ever considered treason, Captain?"

Peavey laughed. "Never, sir. Never."

"Not at all?" Tritt had a big smile on his face like it was all a great joke between friends.

"Not at all."

"Not even against the popinjay? Come on. What would you like to do to that one?"

Peavey shrugged and stuck his hands out to either side. "I can't say I wouldn't enjoy seeing him get his, but no, I would never let him lower me to that level. I will serve out as I can, as long as my family is safe and my duty is done and my orders are clear and the sun still shines and that stuff. That … emperor. Whatever. You know?"

"You sound like a good man, Peavey."

"I hope so."

"Are you? A good man?"

"Yeah. Yes. I think so?"

Tritt nodded, looking pleased. "I don't run into those very often." Opan smiled. "Are you sure you haven't done anything I need to know about? Do you twist your orders a little sometimes? Lifted a few things from stores? Abused your privileges?"

"No! 'Course not." But then he immediately blurted out, "I cheat on my shift hours sometimes. No one catches me at it. 'Specially since I'm captain. And I've slept in the ready room before. That's nice." Peavey nodded to himself, thinking about his delinquencies.

They were so trivial. Tritt's expression warmed further. "Well then, I think I'm done here. You need a walk back to your quarters?"

"I don't know. I feel so loose. It's nice. You're nice. Everyone's nice. I might even like the boy. It's strange. I'm not normally like this when I drink." Tritt got an arm around his waist and helped him up. "You know," Peavey continued, "I have never promoted any of my children. I never asked. Let them themselves, you know? And then to have my superior officer? Just because of his father, who should have been removed years ago? And just as bad? Is neog … napa … nepot … nepotism. There. Yes."

"Uh-huh. Keep walking." Tritt maneuvered them down the hallway. The lift wasn't far, which was on purpose.

"It's a shame. We should all be ashmd. Shemed. Shemming. Um, hm, why can't I talk?"

"Seem to be doing fine to me," Tritt said. "I need to get you off the subject now, so let's try singing."

By the time Tritt dropped Peavey off with his wife, the captain was happily belting out old drinking songs. In the morning, he'd remember little and Tritt would claim he'd downed half the bottle before he cut him off. Also in the morning, Tritt would listen to the recording he'd made of the conversation and provide his report to General Hux, as ordered. Then he'd be on to the next of a long list of people Hux wanted investigated. But this one, at least, was fine.