HARRIL, 45 ABY - EMPIRE DAY
The quarters that belonged to Admiral Iralim were beautiful in design, with not an inch of metal to be seen. Designed entirely from the wood of trees taking from Kashyyyk, this room was the definition of elegance. The walls were lined with paintings taken from all across the galaxy, with each having a common theme of the Empire. One painting even featured the Admiral himself, standing with a Stormtrooper helmet under one arm and the head of an Ewok under the other, slightly crushed by the immense strength of the Admiral's hands.
In the centre of the room, there was a King sized bed, with soft linen spread neatly across it and patterned to look as if it were covered in brown leaves. Two big pillows sat against the headrest, fluffed and ready to be slept on. By the bed was a holo-book sitting comfortably on a small bedside table, and by the table an enormous desk with a swivelling leather chair tucked in behind it.
The first thing Officer Brigard noticed, however, was the man himself. Admiral Iralim had removed his white jacket, and now sat at the end of his bed with a bottle of Corellian Ale in his hands. He sipped from it elegantly as Brigard stepped further into the room, out of the shadow of the door and into the light.
'Admiral Iralim,' Brigard began, after gulping and wiping sweat from his forehead, 'I've been sent to inform you-'
'Of what?' the Admiral asked, 'please speed your words. I have not - despite what you might believe, Officer Brigard - got all day.' The Admiral smiled an enormous grin revealing his perfectly cleaned teeth before he filled his mouth with more ale and swirled it around with his tongue. It should have looked savage and unprofessional, yet somehow it made the Admiral look wise and thoughtful.
'I - we - have just been informed ourselves that...' Brigard took a breath. These next few words would be hard to speak and he knew that the Admiral would certainly not take them very well.
'Please carry on,' the Admiral muttered, after swallowing the drink. He did appear to be genuinely interested, even if he hid behind the facade of no interest.
'Well, sir... We - we have just been informed of a, erm, terrorist attack on the Empire Day celebrations on Harril.' Brigard closed his mouth tightly the moment he finished speaking, and closed his own eyes. He didn't want to have to make eye contact with those dark eyes that belonged to the Admiral. He could hear, however, pacing.
'Please open your eyes, Brigard.'
Brigard reluctantly did as ordered, and as he slowly opened his eyes he felt the heavy breathing of an angry man heating his forehead. When he could finally see again, he learnt that this man was Admiral Iralim. The Admiral stood as closely as he could possibly get, with his chest pushed against Brigard's and his eyes examining Brigard's soul. Clearly what the Admiral saw did not please him.
Lifting up his bear like hands, the Admiral grabbed a panicking Brigard by the neck and pushed him against one of the wooden walls. A light echo shot through the room, enhanced by the sound of the Admiral's foot tapping on the floor. Brigard desperately wanted to close his eyes again - close his ears also; he wanted to shut out this nightmare. The Admiral would not let him.
'Officer Brigard,' the Admiral said with a surprising calmness, 'tell me the full story.'
'Yes... Yes, my lord. It - it was a man in the crowd. He pulled out an E-11, sir, and he fired it at a Stormtrooper in the Parade. Then everything turned to carnage, and the civilians started running. Then the Stormtroopers fired at civilians and, according to my informants, there were bodies left, right and everywhere. One of our Officers, Officer Erics, was killed.'
'I assume by the shear look of terror on your face that the terrorist Rebel was not discovered?' Admiral Iralim asked. Again, he was smiling. Brigard could smell the mint of the Admiral's breath from his position on the wall. Normally, it would be considered pleasant. In this very moment, it was beyond menacing.
'No, sir. I... We believe he got away, sir.'
'"We" possibly should have informed me during the attack that it was occurring, correct? Officer Brigard?' The Admiral had taken on the voice of a strict but nurturing parent, but Brigard could see right through it. This was the time when Brigard would admit to making a mistake and the Admiral would beat him to death for it. Brigard had seen the Admiral do it numerous times, and had learnt to ignore it.
'I... Sir, we should have. But it's not entirely my fault, my lord. It is the fault of the Stormtroopers, for not having searched the planet properly; they should have uncovered this Rebel. It is the fault of the rest of the Bridge, who did not order the use of TIE-Fighters during the attack. By no means is it entirely my fault.'
'By no means is it entirely my fault, Admiral.' Admiral Iralim corrected. 'And it is your fault, Officer Brigard. I do not intend to be rude, or to 'shoot the messenger' as one might say, but lessons must be taught to the rest of the crew. Failure ends in death.'
Brigard had little time to respond before the hands clutched around his neck tightened. His breathing was cut off as he began to scream desperately for oxygen. His arms and legs kicked and punched, desperate to escape this enormous Admiral, but the Admiral was unmovable. His giant black eyes still looked uninterested as the Admiral tightened his grip even more and sent a knee into Brigard's stomach.
'Please, Officer Brigard. Tell me it is not your fault just one more time. Beg for my forgiveness...'
It was of no use; Brigard knew that Admiral Iralim would not let him leave this room alive. The Admiral had a particular hatred of loose ends, and there was no doubt that Brigard would be one. He simply had to embrace this suffering and the approaching death.
'I...' Brigard begun, terrified and short of breath, 'will not beg.'
Immediately, the grip around Brigard's neck loosened as Brigard's body slumped to the wooden floor. He could feel his heart pounding as Admiral Iralim turned to look away, before approaching his enormous bed and taking a seat. Brigard was unsure if his oxygen deprived brain was imagining it, but he believed that the Admiral was laughing.
'Now you, Officer Brigard, have strength. Thank goodness.' There was a beat of silence, as Admiral Iralim stood up once more and headed towards the entrance door. He walked with his hand risen, as if he was showing Brigard the way out. Unsure of how to act, Brigard slowly got to his feet and followed his leader, although he kept a cautious step behind the him.
'If you would please return to the Bridge, Officer Brigard, that would be of great help. All hands will be needed on deck; I am launching the TIE-Fighters and Defenders. Tonight, Harril will burn in flames.'
Brigard did not question the will of his master, almost launching out of the room before the Admiral could say another word. He did not say thank you, out of fear that Admiral Iralim would change his mind and spontaneously choke him to death. Instead he returned to the Bridge and prepared for his next orders, like he had been commanded.
Brigard had survived a deadly encounter with Admiral Iralim, and he wanted - no, needed - it to be the last.
Another sip of Corellian Ale. Then a glass of Mad Mrelf - not too much, as Admiral Iralim feared getting drunk. He hated the taste but drunk it all anyway. Then he had another bottle of Corellian Ale, followed by Corellian Spiced Ale, followed by a Twistler shot. By the time Admiral Iralim had began to take more drink from his special glass cabinet, there was no doubt that he was drunk. It wasn't that he showed any signs of it - he didn't - but there was no possible way a man, even of his size, could drink the amount he had that night and still be sober.
Now he sat at the end of his bed drinking straight from the last bottle of Alderaan Wine, shipped from the planet just before it had been destroyed by the Death Star. Every other bottle it had once traveled with had either been drunk or gone missing, with many bounty hunters and scavengers searching for it alike. It's rarity meant that it was worth a small fortune, but Admiral Iralim did not care. To his own taste-buds, it tasted disgusting. He even went as far as believe it might be a fake, produced by a factory that released reproducing Alderaan Wine would make them rich.
Once Admiral Iralim had finished draining the bottle, he put it besides the empty glasses of the night and slowly put on his white jacket, as he ran a hand through his hair. He had so many things that needed to be done this evening. First, he would visit the Bridge and watch out of the main window the annihilation of the planet below and the slaughter of any who could be considered a Rebel. Then he would make contact with his wife, currently living on Coruscant, and speak to his only daughter. Then he would have sex with the female Stormtrooper who lived in a small quarters near his own.
Oh, how he had craved a night like the one he would be about to have. This... This was the life Admiral Iralim had dreamed of. This was the power he had always desired since he was a child; the power to decide whether a man would live or die, and the power to decide that a day would be the last for an entire planet. So many times before he had become an Officer of the Empire Admiral Iralim, once simply Thomas Iralim, had thought that if he could just kill one person, or destroy one group of people, his life would be complete. Now he knew this to be true.
As Admiral Iralim - Thomas Iralim no more - headed towards the exit of his room, he peaked a last look. Its magnificent design was that to die for, and was proof of a lifetime of achievement. He even had a painting of himself, for crying out loud! And he was holding the head of an Ewok! It could get no better.
Admiral Iralim's stroll to the Bridge took several minutes and although his breath lingered with alcohol, there was no stagger in his steps. His body remained upright and firm, and his eyes remained focused. His hair stayed in place and his uniform stayed buttoned. To any passer by, Admiral Iralim was his normal self-aware well-mannered self; he said 'good evening' when he passed crew members, or wished them a 'good night of sleep' when he passed those who would consider him a friend, even if he did not share their feelings.
When Admiral Iralim finally did make it to the Bridge, he dropped all his manners. Only momentarily, but he still let them slip. The sight out of the Bridge's main window was simply magnificent. It was all that he had hoped for, and more. It was greater than any present he had ever received, or ever desired. It was pure - perfect. And it made him so proud.
He saw TIE-Defenders flashing by the window, blasting flashes of green at the few resisting ships that had once found rest on Harril. He saw TIE-Fighters firing rays of death at the planet below, shattering infrastructure and adding to the growing flames. He saw a world that was beginning to fall apart, and was being left in ruins at his own hands. He saw his own power.
Truly, without a doubt, Admiral Iralim was a god.