Chapter 2

Business

The sun had set hours ago, but he could still see the Askija's tail glowing green and blue in the dark, weaving through clouds invisible to him. His wife never grew tired of drawing them, especially this one, which had started circling the base days before and which returned almost every year. These graceful birdlike creatures with their long scaly tails and feathery wings never ceased to amaze her. How often had he just sat there, watching her draw sketches of them against a backdrop of mountains and high zetto trees. She was very fond of this planet, he knew, and for that alone he was happy to have chosen 01-NF-OO as his operation's base. If she liked it here then life was that much easier.

He leaned back in his chair and watched the Askija glide through the air, watched its long tail float along behind it and remembered her drawings of the animal. The feathery wings, the pointed nose and those huge sparkling eyes. Of course he knew why his wife liked them. Why she loved how they glided through the air as if they weighed nothing. She loved beauty. Beauty beyond everything. And Askijas, in her opinion, which came in so many different colours and which stored the planet's silvery white sunlight within their tail scales during the night, were the embodiment of beauty. It was a miracle, he thought, that she appeared to love him.

The short haired female standing in the doorway straightened up as he turned to look at her. Her stark white hair was immediately recognizable wherever she went. As she approached, his eyes fell, not for the first time, on the tattoo creeping out from underneath her collar, winding its way up her neck. He hated it, but she had joined his organization recently and therefore there was really nothing he could do about her appearance. Like so many others, she just didn't have the proper upbringing, but that was something he had learned to live with. Adapting to their new life hadn't come easy to him. It could still be frustrating. This was not how it should be, he knew, but he had to do the best he could with what he had. Still he could not resist making her wait.

He swivelled around in his chair so he was facing her. "Please, do come in, Lieutenant." He didn't even know her name, but that didn't matter. Not yet anyway. If she indeed managed to make her way up the ranks, then he'd bother learning her name.

Hesitantly she walked towards him, and from the way her fingers twitched, as if she were unsure of where to put them, he concluded that her promotion to Lieutenant had to have been a new development. He had seen her, of course, during meetings and on other occasions on the base, but so far, he had never talked to her. She, apparently aware of the fact that now was her time to make a good impression, placed her hands behind her back, to stop them from moving about. Her head held high she looked down at him. "Sir."

With a gesture he offered her the chair on the other side of his desk. She was here for a briefing, he knew, and he hated having those with inexperienced officers. But of course she had to go through these things if she wanted to learn and improve herself.

She looked down at the seat offered to her, apparently taken aback, but she tried not to show it. Her long face with the miniscule nose, thin mouth and huge, slightly asymetrical green eyes, was drained of all colour as she sat down on the edge of the seat, but she returned his gaze, her hands now resting on her thighs.

"What do you have to report, Lieutenant." It was no question. He had no need for questions, but he didn't raise his voice, just kept looking at her. Calm. Authoritative. The way he had been taught to be in a situation like this. Absolutely sure that he was in control and always had been. He glanced at her tattoos again, but fixated instead on her eyes. It was no use ordering her to have that tattoo removed. There were so many people like her in his organization. A thing like this would have been unthinkable seven years ago.

"General," she began and he folded his hands on the table top, looking at her even more intently. "The shipment from 30-KS-04 has arrived half an hour ago. It has been unloaded from the freighter and stored." She paused for a moment, as if waiting for him to order her to continue.

Humouring her he made another gesture, indicating to her that he wanted her to continue. Just a lazy wave of his hand. She was still very young, he remembered. Nervous in the presence of a superior. That was only understandable. He was a general, even though he had never been promoted to this rank by anyone. It had become more of a mask during the last couple of years, shielding his real name from the public, even though he had never really stopped using it. It was just what his people had started calling him. He had never stopped them, though. A title he had never earned it may be, but he couldn't help himself but appreciate the fact they had given him that name. By now it might as well be his title. There was no more First Order. No more Empire. Just him and his organization.

"The delayed shipment from 16-MG-85 has arrived as well." She stopped again, and he realized that this was the main reason why she had been sent to him. Everything she had told him thus far could have easily been reported to him via comm. And sending her here for anything less than a real problem would have been a waste of resources. The Lieutenant wiped her hands on her trousers, an utterly unprofessional gesture, and balled her hands into fists. She took a deep, shuddering breath, but when she spoke again her voice was steady. "But the delivery was much smaller than anticipated. Only twenty percent of what was asked of them."

The General returned her gaze with a stern expression on his face. The workers on 16-MG-85, the designation they had given the planet the better to cover up their doings in their records, hadn't delivered the quota required of them in months, but twenty percent was a new low.

"We are holding the man who piloted the ship for questioning, Sir." She let out an almost inaudible sigh. She was done.

He had to restrain himself from banging his fist on the table. The fact that the people from 16-MG-85 had not delivered as much as they should have, had not been a problem so far. They had other contractors. Other agents. But the lack of respect this miniscule delivery entailed in his eyes, made him angry. The General closed his eyes for a moment and then slowly got up from his chair.

"Has he been questioned yet?", he asked, his voice cool and distant. He pulled up his gloves as he had always done shortly before getting to work. It was time to act. Now.

"No, Sir. Captain Kayla is awaiting your orders."

He nodded and threw another look out the window. The Askija was still slowly circling up in the air. So very far away. So distant. So far apart from everything going on in the galaxy. "Take me to her." Taking another last look at the birdlike creature, he followed the Lieutenant out into the shabby but clean corridor.

The base had been used by smugglers before he and his organization had managed to drive them out. It had been a bloodbath, but worth it. The planet was situated on the very edge of the galaxy on the Outer Rim. It was far enough away from the Republic so as not to draw attention to themselves and close enough to it at the same time in order to be able to build up their operation. It was not as pristine, nor as orderly as he had hoped it would be, but it worked. A sanctuary for all those who didn't to spend their lives emerged in the chaos that was the Republic.

Their steps echoed in the empty hallways on their way to the holding cells, which were situated at the most Northern part of the complex, directly adjacent to the rock of the mountain this base had been built into. He walked in front of her, fully aware that of the fact that her eyes were fixed on his back, while she was trying to imitate him. Maybe, one day, once she got used to their ways here, she'd make a fine officer. When they reached the detention block, the General's eyes fell on the soldiers stationed at the entrance. At a nod from him one of them waved his hand in front of the sensor, opening the door.

"He's in cell forty-three, Sir," she said.

The General turned around to face her. "Very well... You're dismissed."

She nodded, relief flooding her face, and with a jerk she turned around, heading away from the detention block as quickly as she could. Maybe he was wrong about her after all.

The cell the prisoner was being held in was on the far end of the narrow, low ceilinged corridor. The General felt the drop in temperature the closer he got to the cell. They only heated the detention block as much as necessary, being able to control the temperature of the individual cells in case they were occupied. This didn't happen particularly often. They didn't get a lot of visitors here. Captain Kayla, a dark haired woman, about twenty years his junior, was waiting for him in front of the prisoner's cell.

"General!" She stood up straight. She had been one of the last graduates from the Academy, not top of her class, not by far, but that didn't matter under their new circumstances. She had been so young when the ship they had both been on, had been destroyed by the Republic and with it the last remnants of the First Order's military. All gone within a couple of months. Only few had remained free of the Republic's influence and somehow the General had managed to surround himself with those willing to build a life for themselves. To live the way they had always known it to be best. Apart from the chaos that was democracy. Cateer had been among the first to join him. Of course they were nowhere close to the First Order in size, neither in funds or equipment, but they had made it work so far, though he was sure that the First Order's founders would be ashamed of the pitiful state the remnants of their once so promising regime were in now.

"Open the door, Captain."

Without another word Cateer waved her hand in front of the sensor, just like the guard had done at the entrance to the detention block, authorizing the door to slide open. The smell of stale air immediately filled his nostrils. The air conditioning could not have been turned on all that long ago. At least it was considerably warmer in here than it was in the corridor.

The General's eyes immediately fell on the prisoner, who was standing with his back to the wall at the far end of the small room, his arms fixated to the concrete ceiling by out of date shackles on adjustable chains. His feet were bound to the floor by a similar contraption. As the General entered, the man threw him a vicious look, full of resentment, his eyes gleaming in the flickering light. The dark eyes were probably the most prominent feature in the man's face and they made the General stop in his tracks as he remembered how often he had done this. How many times he had gone through a situation like this. Never caring. Always on top of things. Even in situations that might have been painful to a younger version to himself. Those eyes made him freeze. They were so much like eyes into which he had looked before. Not in shape or colour exactly, but in the way they stared at him. The way they seemed to tell him that he would never break them. Never.

That other prisoner had been wrong as well.

This one did not speak as he faced the man standing in front of him, much unlike the other one, which had been brave enough to talk back at him even after days of isolation.

The General pulled up his gloves. This was it. Time to act. Other people might be able to do what he was about to do, but he wanted this. He wanted these information and he wanted them now. The man's eyes made him want the latter even more. "Where is my shipment?" He raised his eyes, looking directly at the man in chains. He already knew the answer. They didn't have it. No... most likely they didn't have it. Most likely. He had to find out though. Make sure. Wasting resources was out of the question.

"We don't have it". The man shook his head. The General didn't know his name either and the name was of no importance. "What we brought you is all we had."

His fist connected with the prisoner's jaw with a satisfying crunching sound. "Liar." He knew how to do this. He had not forgotten a single thing.

The man in front of him didn't lose his footing, just got thrown to the right, his arms straining under the body's weight. Gasping for breath the man shook his head. "No," he said. "We sent you all we had." Just a repetition. Nothing more.

The General threw a look over his shoulder. "Turn up the light, Captain. I'm going to need to see what I'm doing here." He turned back to the prisoner, who still had that defiant look about him. "This might take a while."

It took hours and he was out of breath by the time he finished with the prisoner. There were no information to gain from him. None at all. He had wasted his energy and his time. Taking a step back he surveyed the man hanging in chains in front of him, his face bloody and unconscious. If he left him in this situation the prisoner was sure to suffocate, killed by the weight of his own body.

"Captain..." The General turned around, not sparing another look at the person he had spent his entire evening working on to no great avail.

Kayla was still standing next to the door, not having spoken a word during the entire process. She knew her place. Knew what to do and what not to do. The General was grateful to have a soldier like her under his command. Once addressed she now looked her superior directly in the face. "Sir?"

"Remove his restraints." With a disgusted look on his face the General removed the bloody gloves. Before he could figure out what to do with them, Kayla had stretched out a hand, offering to take them. Nodding slightly the General handed them over. "Get the cameras ready. You know what to do with him." Ignoring the retching sound coming from the nameless man behind him the General turned towards the sink, washing his hands under the stream of icy water. He would need soap to feel properly clean again, but for now this was good enough. From the corner of his eye he saw Kayla nodding. Every execution was recorded for prosperity's sake. Moreover, especially in a case like this, it could be used as intimidation if the need arose.

"Yes, Sir." Kayla didn't hesitate for a single moment. She strode past the General, towards the prisoner, whose body slammed to the floor after a few seconds.

"See to it, that Xato, Tott and Hacka are in my office first thing tomorrow moring. We need to discuss further steps concerning our current lack of resources." The General didn't turn around to look at the creature sprawled on the floor now and moaning in protest.

"Yes, Sir."

Determined to bring as much space between him and this enormous waste of time the General left the room. There would be more to worry about. More to plan the next day, which was only a couple of hours away. He didn't pay attention to his surroundings. It was very late. His wife and son were most likely in bed by now. Quickening his steps, when he left the detention block, he headed straight towards the southern part of the complex, where the officers' apartments were situated.

When he had finally reached his quarters, after walking through seemingly endless corridors, occasionally patrolled by young cadets of his organization, he paused for a moment. The shiny metal of the door showed him his reflection. The past seven years had taken its toll. His reddish hair had gone grey, his eyes were lined. Both were to be expected of a man in his late forties, he thought, but that didn't have to mean that he liked it. He had grown older without ever redeeming himself. He had never gotten a chance to live up to his mother's expectations, of making a name of himself within the Order. The Order had been shattered before he had gotten a chance to do that. What he had now was so different from what could have been, but he knew that he had done his best. Opening the door his eyes fell immediately on the door behind which his nine year old son would be sleeping now. The boy whom he had named after his long dead brother in a spur of sentiment. His brother who had betrayed the First Order and run off to join the Republic. His brother had not been a coward, that much he knew, but he had been a fool. Morap, he thought, may very well be one of the few weaknesses he had ever permitted himself and it had nearly cost him all he had, when he had let the traitor's former lover go.

As quietly as he could the General approached his son's door and pushed it open a crack. It took him a moment to spot the sleeping boy underneath the blankets striped with green and blue. The brown hair had fallen into his eyes and the lips were slightly parted. With a small smile on his lips he closed the door again and proceeded to his own bedroom.

His wife was already asleep, just as he had thought. Bending over he picked up the drawings she had put on the floor next to her side of the bed before falling asleep. By the dim light issuing through the window he saw that she had drawn the Askija. Of course she had. Nataleeh Bendar never grew tired of drawing them.

Putting the drawings on her nightstand he stepped towards the window again. Looking out at the valley stretching out far beneath the complex. The mountains surrounding them glistened in the light of the stars. From where he stood he could not see the training field or the hangar. Just the landscape. The wide river sparkling like a mirror, reflecting the Askija's softly shimmering tail. It had grown more dim already. Soon its scales would cease to shine and day would break.