Thank you Firehawk1100 and Kuiil for being my betas. I couldn't do it without them.
The Ones That Are Left Behind: Part Two
Coquer's eyes went wide, not believing what was being told to him. His body shuddered at the horrid sight before him.
"No…" he breathed.
"Oh, yes, kid." A mop was thrust into one hand and a sponge in the other. A caddy filled to the brim with soapy water rolled in front of him, having been kicked over to him by his supervisor. "The captain wants it all speck and span before our job at Ryloth."
The fifteen year-old groaned, his shoulders slouched in despair. It was not even his turn in the rotation to clean the crew's head! This was supposed to be Duk and Craass's week, while he and Qimbal had the easy job of sweeping the passageways. Speaking of Qimbal, Coquer wondered why the Weequay wasn't with him. They were assigned together for all duties on the ship
"Where's Qimbal? Why is he not here?"
The muscular Twi'lek chuckled. "Because he's not on today's rotation."
Coquer leaned his head against the handle of the mop, groaning. "There's no way I could finish all this in time," he whined.
His supervisor chuckled, smacking him on his back, not at all minding their strength. "Oh, stop ya belly aching and get to it. You know where to find me once you're done."
He grumbled under his breath, watching the Twi'lek leave from the corner of his eye. Oh, how he could not wait for himself to get promoted, and be their supervisor, barking orders he knew they couldn't ignore.
One day.
But until that day came, he could only follow their commands as the dutiful kid he was. Sighing, he dropped the sponge in the caddy and placed the mop into it, pushing the wheeled container towards the showers. Might as well start at the end of the head and work his way down.
Coquer pulled the curtains of one of the showers, grimacing at the sight of gunk on the drain. Feeling a twist in his stomach, he peered at the bottom of the curtain. He blanched at the sight of the same type of gunk on the hem of the curtain, somehow having streaks that looked to be heading upwards.
"I'm going to need gloves." It was days like these he hated his attentiveness.
He went looking for a box of disposable gloves, knowing he would go through more than one pair of them. After a minute or two of searching the compartments nearby, he found—not just one, but two boxes! He would need all the protection for the perilous battle ahead of him.
Once finished putting on two gloves on each hand—he was not taking any chances of accidentally touching the gunk—he grabbed the sponge in the caddy and got to work.
Today marked the third year he started his tutelage under Trench. Honestly, Coquer thought he was done with such unfair tasks being placed upon him. The crew no longer referred him by demeaning monikers, such as brat, frak-face, and little shit. He more than pulled his weight on the ship, having learned all about the different cog pieces that made a warship run. He even took on extra duties so the others could have a chance to relax and contact their families they hadn't seen in a long time. He did this and more, all while still performing satisfactorily in his lessons with Trench.
Coquer exhaled heavily, pulling off his double-layer of gloves. The shower area was now cleaner than the fancy hotels on Coruscant. Or, well, clean to the standards of a ship designed to wage battles at least. He moved to the next area, where the hardest challenge awaited him.
He was face-to-face with the most vile of his foes he had the displeasure of meeting. Narrowing his eyes and placing four-layers of gloves on, he went to work on the first of many toilets in the space.
Coquer thought about the last couple of weeks, wondering if he crossed someone to earn such a—and pun intended—shitty chore. Truthfully, he could think of none. At this point, he was pretty friendly with everyone onboard the ship, and the many more that were part of the fleet.
His teacher was quick to instill that lesson in his head. A leader must know everyone and everything under their command, the Harch taught. It made sense to him, like all lessons Trench taught. The man was a lot wiser than what he originally thought. His teachings weren't just limited to the ways of war, but other subjects as well, such as history, art, and, much to his surprise, the performance arts.
The Harch was well-versed in the many aspects of life that made the galaxy brimming with vitality, and Coquer soaked each of the lesson he taught like a sponge, immersed with the many tales the two-hundred year old regaled. Trench even voiced his praise about how well he was progressing, having just defeated him for the first time in their simulated mock battles.
So he couldn't help but ponder why he was getting punished.
Coquer leaned against the bulkhead, closing his eyes as he exhaled. Someway, somehow, he was finished. Every single inch of the compartment was sparkling clean, with a fresh coat of bleach placed on the vilest of areas for extra measure.
His body ached, and the smell of the many chemicals he used in the war against germs was making him lightheaded. His shirt, drenched with sweat, stuck to him like a flea on a dog.
He should have enough time for some rest, right? There was no way the seven gods would be that cruel to little old him, right? He was an innocent, good-willed kid, devoted to the ways of his people, after all.
"Attention, all hands, prepare for entering realspace," the announcer said through the intercoms. "Repeat, prepare for entering realspace."
Coquer banged the back of his head against the wall, muttering a curse under his breath. Well, at least he had an easy post for this job. All he was assigned to do was keep watch for any incoming enemy by radar.
"Coquer, you are requested on the bridge. Repeat, Coquer, you are requested on the bridge."
"Argh!" Coquer threw the mop onto the floor.
It was official. He was becoming an atheist.
The door to the bridge opened. The infamous Harch himself wasn't sitting in the captain's chair like he normally did. Coquer scanned the lively area, searching for his teacher. He spotted Trench with the Commodore, out looking at the colorful planet of Ryloth through the viewport. They seemed to be having a conversation, a heated one based on the knitted brows and displeased expression of the Commodore.
He had never seen the Commodore so angry and frustrated before. Trench's second was always cool and collected, never raising their voice unless dishing out orders. They were the most professional person he knew in this colorful band of mercenaries. It must be such a delicate subject the two were conversing about for it to erect such emotions from the Commodore.
Coquer took a step forward, formally entering the bridge. The door behind him closed as he snapped into attention. "Coquer reporting as requested, Captain."
The Commodore ceased with their rant upon the announcement of his arrival. Trench and the other officer turned in his direction. His teacher's eyes were strong and judging, like it always was when regarding him.
Trench looked at him from head to toe, humming. "I see from the sweat and grime on your clothes, you completed the task I sent for you."
"Yes, sir."
He should've known that his chore was of his teacher's doing, not someone else's out of spite. Such things weren't a rare occurrence, Trench tasking him with other jobs or additional objectives for missions. They varied per situation, ranging from memorizing the schematics of enemy vessels to assisting with the boarding party to overthrow their foes from within. All were tests in some capacity to gauge his skills and leadership.
But cleaning the ship's head? That seemed to be quite mundane compared to his usual tasks. He was exhausted, sure, but no way had Trench meant that to be a challenge for him to overcome. It was too simple.
Trench nodded. "Good." The Harch gestured for him to come closer, and he did. "Coquer, do you know the purpose of our job over Ryloth is?"
Coquer nodded, keeping his spine straight as he recited the objective of today's mission. "We're to blockade the planet to add pressure to Senator Orn Free Taa in agreeing to the new terms of the Corporate Alliance."
The Commodore grumbled. "Just because he knows the objective, doesn't mean he's ready, sir."
"And he'll never be ready if no opportunities are given to him."
No opportunities? Ready? What are the two talking about?
Coquer didn't dare to break from his position of being in attention. He learned his lesson very quickly from the first and only time he relaxed his posture, having Trench's swagger stick smacked against his arms and back. Insolence, Trench called the act. If there was one thing the Harch wouldn't stand for, it would be impudence.
He shifted his eyes between his two superiors, trying hard not to move his head. "Captain, Commodore, am I missing something? It seems like you may have an additional mission for me during the job?"
"Astute as always." Trench chuckled. "In a way, yes, I do."
Coquer did his best to show off his eagerness without making it too obvious. "I'm ready for any tasks you have for me, Captain."
He wondered what mission Trench concocted for him to accomplish. It must involve his drained mental and physical state in some fashion. Perhaps an objective involving him predicting the enemy's movements and strategy, or being the master gunner for the cannon crew down below, ordering and helping them fire the massive weapons of destruction.
Whatever this challenge was, it must be truly something. Trench never acted in such a way before.
"Good to see the fatigue of the task earlier hadn't affected you." Trench's smirk proved his suspicion true. "Coquer, you are to lead this blockade."
His blood suddenly ran cold, color drained from his face. The pit of his stomach twisted and he was sure his heart had stopped beating.
I'm going to what now?
"See, I told you, Captain. Coquer is not ready." Commodore hovered a hand in his direction. "Just look at him, sir. He'll freeze up when we see the enemy."
When, not if, Coquer pointed out.
There would be combat. There would be casualties. There would be destruction.
And he would be in the center of it all—the cause of it all.
"What officer hadn't in their first time leading a battle?" Trench asked rhetorically. "Coquer is ready."
He was? Coquer surely didn't feel ready. In fact, he felt like the complete opposite of ready. He was woefully unprepared for the battle that was coming. Trench might as well throw him into a pack of hungry spine-wolves, having them tear his body limb from limb, ravaging his flesh with their sharp teeths. It would have the same effect.
Coquer swallowed his nerves. He had to tell Trench he wasn't ready, not yet at least. It would be suicide if he led.
"C—Captain, I don't think—"
"Boy." Coquer clamped up from the stern voice of Trench, ready for a lashing by his swagger stick that didn't happen. "My order is final. You will lead this blockade. You will defeat all foes that dared to breach our defenses. And you will prove victorious."
Trench's red eyes bored into his, promising a swift and harsh punishment if he disagreed. "Am I understood?"
Coquer swallowed the refusal that was stuck in his throat. "Y—Yes, sir."
"Good." Tench started walking out of the bridge. "The Commodore will explain the other challenges I had set up for you."
Other challenges? He thought his current fatigue was the challenge. Not only did he have to lead a blockade filled with thousands of lives hanging on his every word, he had even more challenges to overcome?
The Commodore sighed. "Coquer, please take a seat. You will need it."
He stiffly walked to the chair that belonged to Trench, sitting in it. His teacher's throne felt strange to be on, wrong even. It was like stepping into shoes far too large for him. Coquer tried to swallow his nerves down, but it kept coming back up. Why did Trench endorse such a ridiculous idea? They were all going to die if he led.
"Coquer, as you probably guessed, I have my misgiving about you leading the fleet."
He nodded dumbly. He didn't know what to say other than he agreed with their opinion. If the roles were reversed, he would express the same concerns.
"That being said, I will assist you with the fullest of my abilities as your second. Of course, somewhat limited by the handicaps the Captain wants to enforce on you."
Coquer finally found his voice. "H—Handicaps?" He thought he was getting additional objectives he needed to accomplish, not being limited of his abilities to react.
The Commodore nodded with a frown. "Correct." They heaved a long weary sigh.
"I won't be able to divulge any intel on any enemies we may, or may not, come across while enforcing the blockade. That includes numbers of ships, damage we may inflict on them, and any detection of hostiles entering and exiting out of hyperspace."
Coquer burst out his seat, his eyes wide as saucers. "What?!"
Everyone on the bridge turned to him because of his outburst, but he paid them no mind. He was having a mini heart attack that he needed to worry about.
"I know Coquer, I know." The Commodore tried to comfort him by placing their hands on his shoulders, but it didn't work. "My reaction was much the same as yours. I tried to convince the captain out of his decision, but he was adamant about it."
He plopped in the Harch's throne, finally understanding the dread many had felt when they went against his teacher. He buried his face in his hands.
He just didn't understand why. Why gave him a task he would obviously fail in accomplishing?
Why place handicaps on an already impossible task?!
Trench had to know he wasn't ready. He just defeated him for the first time only a couple days ago, and that was by the skin of his teeth. The cons outweighs everything in this situation.
Coquer stilled, truly thinking about the situation he was in.
Trench was smart, probably one of the most intelligent people he knew. Risking not only his life, but the life of Dooku's ward was a foolish thought that would never cross his mind. Unless…his father was the one who ordered the challenge.
"Coquer?"
It made the perfect sense. This was like every hellish training he endured while hidden away on that Maker-forsaken outpost. His father had time to conjure up a ludicrous challenge, but not contact him in any shape or form for the last three years.
If his father would rather risk his son's life rather than be in it, fine. He would prove victorious like many times before. He would show that man how wrong he was in sending him away.
Coquer removed his hands from his face, revealing a scowl and fierce eyes.
"Commodore, order the fleet to get in position. I want frigates in the front and the Fortitude in the center of the blockade."
The Commodore looked taken back from his sudden mood change. "O—Of course, Coquer, but shouldn't we be in the center—not the Fortitude?"
Normally, yes they would. It was standard blockade tactics Trench taught him. But in a normal situation he wouldn't have such handicaps placed upon him.
"The Fortitude will act as our decoy flagship, while we blend in with the rest of the blockade. The enemy will be the Judicial Forces, so they will try to end this quickly by striking our flagship."
"How do you know it would be them?" The Commodore asked, their face stuck between awe and confusion.
"Senator Orn Free Taa is a well-known and respectable member of the Senate. They probably already dispatched a sizable fleet to help his planet."
Coquer did his research, had to. He never knew when Trench would quiz him on matters related to the job, closely or not. All information was good information, the Harch taught. It was how you utilized them that showed your skills as a tactician.
"I see. I will relay your orders right away." They grinned. "Captain."
The Commodore turned and faced the crew members on the bridge, barking out orders left and right, enforcing the will of their temporary captain.
The chilling feeling of despair in the pit of his stomach vanished, replaced by the comforting warmth of pride. Every hand on the bridge moved to follow his command, not once uttering any back talk.
So this was what Trench saw every time he led. Coquer saw this sight plenty of times when told to stand by his teacher's side during jobs, learning then later quizzed on what he learned. The sight before him was different from the others.
He wasn't an idle student waiting to be called upon for answers, watching with mild curiosity as the men followed Trench's command. He was a leader, gazing upon his men, making sure his command was followed.
It felt good.
"I see you've been re-vigor with confidence, Coquer."
Coquer gasped, startled by the voice of his teacher. He hadn't heard him re-enter the bridge at all. He quickly removed himself from the throne that rightfully belongs to Trench, but the man stopped him.
"This chair belongs to you." Trench gently pushed him back into the seat. "Like I said before, you will lead this mission, which means you are the captain, and I, a humble observer."
I'm the captain…?
Coquer shook his head, wiping the grin off his face. He had no reason to feel pride from an act that was forced upon them both. "Sir, I know my Lord is the one who demanded you to do this. You don't have to be nice about it."
Trench's mandibles twitched as he grinned. "Still very astute, but you are wrong about one thing. Count Dooku did order me to provide him with some proof of your growth, but I was the one who suggested Ryloth as your testing ground, as well as the handicaps."
Coquer's eyes widened. "What?" And his father accepted such an asinine proposal?! "Why?"
"Because you are ready." Trench placed a hand on his shoulder, giving him an assuring squeeze. "You've gained your first victory against me in the simulations not that long ago, with odds far worse than what you are about to face. I refuse to believe my pupil would lose against the Republic's pathetic Judicial Forces."
His pupil? Trench never referred to him as such before. It was either by his name or just plainly, boy. Did he truly believe he would succeed?
"Ah, it seems the Republic has finally arrived."
Coquer snapped his head to the viewport. The enemy fleet was imposing with their signature red paint on their vessels, but was smaller than what he anticipated to face. He expected to be outnumbered four to one, or even three to one. Based on what he could see, the size of their fleet and his own were about the same.
"So, Captain Coquer." He turned and looked up at Trench. The Harch had a demented gleam in his red eyes. "What are your orders?"
Captain Coquer. His orders.
Trench truly believed in him.
A grin graced Coquer's lips and his eyes shined with the same sadistic twinkle as his teacher. He turned his focus onto the incoming enemy. "Frigates, move to intercept. Cruisers, protect the Fortitude. Launch fighters and destroy their engines. Fire lasers!"
Coquer sat, leaning against a wall in his room. His legs were up, his face buried into his crossed arms. He cradled his prized vibrorapier like it would shatter from the softest of wind.
The blockade of Ryloth was the day his relationship with Trench changed. From viewing him as a teacher to becoming a mentor, then later a friend, and finally a father. Trench taught him everything he knew, and not just about waging war, but life as well. From teaching him about the economy to telling him about the birds and the bees.
Trench was more of a father than his own ever was. And now he would never get a chance to tell him that. Tell him how much he loved him.
"Why?" he sobbed, his cheeks stained with tear streaks.
He never felt so empty in his life. His heart ached in agony with each thump it made.
Why did it have to be him?
His ears twitched, hearing the door to his quarters swooshing open. The sound of heavy clanks of a droid followed right after.
"Sir, it's Rust."
Why couldn't the machine leave him alone? All he wanted was to be alone.
"Lugnut has been trying to reach you about the status of the repairs and the clone prisoners."
Coquer didn't care. He just wanted to be away from this place. Away from this war.
"Sir, are you okay?"
Of course I'm not, you stupid droid!
Coquer brought his rapier—the only memento of Trench he had—closer. "Leave, Rust. That's an order," his voice was muffled from his face being tucked in his arms.
The droid should leave him alone now. They had to follow his orders, they were programmed to do so.
So why wasn't he hearing the damn thing leaving yet?
Coquer lifted his head. His eyes were red and puffy from crying for hours. Rust was still here, standing dumbly in front of him.
"I said, leave me damn it!" he barked.
Rust quirk its head to the side. "You're...in pain." The machine placed a hand against his head. "Red, I need you to come to the commander's quarters. He's—"
"Stop!" Coquer hopped to his feet. "Retract that order, now."
"But sir, you are obviously injured."
He clenched his teeth. "I'm mourning, not injured," he hissed.
Coquer sighed, all of his energy sapped away from the flash of rage. He returned to his spot on the floor, curling back into a ball—a pitiful weeping ball.
"I don't care what you do, Rust. Just be quiet about it."
"...Roger, roger."
Coquer heard the heavy footsteps of the droid, but wondered why it was getting closer instead of further away. He lifted his head enough for a single eye to peek out.
Rust sat to his left, its photoreceptors trained forward and body stilled, not making a single sound. He closed his eyes and returned his face back to the comforts of his arms.
Whatever Rust was doing, Coquer didn't care. As long as it didn't bother him, the droid could stay where-the hell-ever it wanted in his room.
Author's Note: Hope you guys enjoy the little flashback. I always planned of putting this chapter in the story, but never knew where. Originally I thought to put it in the beginning but this seems a better decision.
Till Next Time