Chapter 17

Author's Note: My apologies for the long delay between chapters. I became ill right after I began a new career. Unfortunately, my writing time was cut dramatically. I should be back to a chapter a week soon. I'm not done with the Grand Commander, and he's not done with me.

Endor, fourteen hours after the commander promised an EVAC.

Hera's grief is crushing, worsened by a death that seems completely avoidable. Her comrade is yet another loss in a fight no one knows of or cares about. Knowing that Ewoks and Duloks always fight and seemingly always will, leaves her emotionally depleted.

The fact that he died fighting beside stormtroopers feels unreal. It clashes with a thousand memories of the opposite; Hera can't count how many times she fought them. It's as natural as breathing. She's as guilty as anyone for viewing them as faceless villains. Stormtroopers are the most blatant symbols of the Empire that she opposes in all forms, yet here she fought beside and was rescued by them. That paradox ignites a thousand uncomfortable questions.

First and foremost: will the end of this great war only lead to a million smaller ones? Will everyone fight everyone everywhere over what's left, with allegiances shifting like the wind?

Then Hera's thoughts shift; she didn't even know the Sullustan's name…

THUD!

Without warning, her self-reflection is interrupted by the sound. Instantly, it cuts through all conversations and halts everyone. Hera can feel it, striking her with the same might as the arena gong. It cuts through her grief with the intensity of a lightsabre.

Nearby, the commander's ax lands inexplicably, with the handle sticking out of the dirt. It appears to be abandoning him and instead soliciting another.

The commander's hand curls unnaturally, his pierced shoulder tilted, and he's suffering excruciating pain. Everyone in the village watches him closely.

Is the ax rejecting him? Hera wonders. No matter how irrational the question seems, she can't deny what she sees. Suddenly, Gary appears at his side and examines his arrow wound, completely disregarding the weapon. The commander shrugs him off and snatches it up. Once they're reunited, the commander stares fiercely at those surrounding him, seeking challengers.

Gorneesh examines him longer than he's comfortable. The commander forces himself to straighten up in spite of his obvious agony. After a few seconds, the king blinks and then lowers his gaze. Urgah remains openly hostile. Contrarily, the other Duloks revere him.

Instead of cradling his arm or relieving the weight on the commander's wounded shoulder. Despite his injuries, he projects strength, both willing and able to use violence. At that moment, Hera grasps his concern and the precarious nature of their status in the village. In hours they went from neutral to enemies in an arena, then neutral again in the face of the oncoming destruction. After leaving the caves, they had to stand together or die, but the threat is gone.

"We must rebuild," Urgah declares coldly. "It's time for the outsiders to go."

The damage is undeniable. As the ruins of the Deathstar struck, it scarred the village before bouncing beyond into the forest. Unfortunately, thousands of superheated sparks fell in its wake, setting fires all along its path. Even now, smoke rises in the air. Smelling it, Duloks run to the nearby river to douse the flames or throw dirt on the sparks before the fire spreads.

"I need help," Hera whispers shamefully. She hurts all over and can feel the bruises forming. The big rebel joins her, but he's even worse, his armor dented and sundered. He limps, grimacing with each step and nearly powerless. Her jaw drops when she sees him. She'd been too busy surviving to see what happened to him. Hera repeats herself, then, "I can't leave him."

"Ha-ha!" Gary chuckles. "Wait 'til she sees the shuttle."

Hera looks at Gary, but the commander glares at him. Almost simultaneously, both Hera and the commander realize the Duloks look to him for guidance. The commander growls then motions impatiently. King Gorneesh frowns but doesn't interfere, and Hera realizes why Urgah is so hostile. The reverence the Duloks hold him in threatens her husband's rule.

The Duloks swiftly pick up the Sullustan's body. Hera tries to help, but she's much shorter than them. They easily hoist the slim Sullustan over their heads, and it's yet another dagger. Her stomach sinks, disgusted by her failure to stop the commander or even the battle with the Ewoks. Again she's in his debt, not only for rescuing her again but saving her life.

"This is going to hurt, sir," Gary says. "The arrow is barbed."

"Lightfeet use bad arrows and poison," Gorneesh says. "Make warriors sick, make skin fester, or make blood burn."

"That's great," Gary comments disdainfully. "I don't have anti-toxins. Hold still, sir."

Hera watches the commander try to sit awkwardly; she takes his arm and helps him without thinking. He keeps the ax in his lap, visible for all to see. Then Gary pulls his poncho aside and slices the wound to open the injury. The commander grunts through his teeth then groans. Hera watches him clench his fist but otherwise remains still. Finally, Gary removes the arrow without allowing its barbs to hook and tear his flesh.

A quick spray of bacta on his wound closes it; then Gary injects bacta in his neck for the rest of his lesser injuries. The commander sighs, slumping over slightly. Then with Gary and Hera's help, he stands back up. His left arm refuses to move. Noticing this, Gary takes a long piece of cloth and wraps it around the commander's neck, creating a sling.

A thought occurs to Hera, "Was it like this at the end of the Clone Wars?"

"Yes, that hurt too," the commander laughs madly. Then his voice turns solemn, "It was worse. Thousands of worlds were fighting, then suddenly stopped without suitable resolution. Thousands more won their battles but lost the war and resented both sides. We raced from planet to planet or starbase to ensure compliance and 'recalibrate' locals with Imperial code. I didn't know when I was young, but we were conscripting people against their will."

"I remember my father telling me the Empire was creating jobs and bringing peace," Hera recalls. "We were tired of fighting, but my uncle—and my mother didn't trust them."

"I'm not surprised," the commander grimaces as he tries to move his wounded shoulder. "I've read about the conflicts on Ryloth leading up to the Techno Union's invasion. After the war, we shut down the droid foundries and thought nothing could threaten the Empire."

"What happened?" Hera inquires intensely. "How did everything change?"

"Slowly, we grew complacent with brutality. The Clones were elite but few and difficult to produce. The ones we had were war-weary and aging. The stormtroopers were cheaper and easy to produce but-well, cheaper. The day-to-day rush from insurrections and riots distracted us and winnowed our veterans. Our grief justified ruthless but rapid suppression; unfortunately, it created chain reactions. While terrifying acts of violence cowed many, they inspired others to strike back, and some retaliated in kind. Back and forth, the violence continued and escalated."

"Was there any attempt to integrate these forces into the Empire?" Hera asks.

"No," the commander shakes his head. "Command decided it was more efficient to press them into labor camps. They argued the 'Separatists' deserved it. At the same time, building Deathstars and star destroyers, the Empire required a constant flow of workers and materials."

"Excuse me, sir," Gary interrupts. "Why are you telling her this?"

"Yes," quiet until now, king Gorneesh motions emphatically. "She is enemy. Yes…no?"

"I'm curious too," Hera concedes. "Why do you care so much, commander?"

"You don't understand yet, general. You're the Empire now."

Gary nods, slowly coming to understand, "I never thought about what happens next."

"Yes," Gorneesh nods forcefully. "Someone must rule. This always true."

"No!" she vehemently denies it. "No, the old Republic was never as bad as the Empire."

The commander insists, "The Old Republic was a bloated monstrosity of corruption. Worlds were bought and sold in backrooms, red-tape decimated sectors, while politicians lived lavishly. They outlawed slavery and celebrated themselves as long as they didn't have to see it. Your world is one of the thousands that suffered oppression from a disinterested government."

"Should we trade a bloated monstrosity of corruption for a militarized one? The Empire became the root cause of my homeworld's oppression. Instead of slavery at the fringe edge of the galaxy, it became commonplace. The Empire was a bloated monstrosity of tyranny, no less corrupt than the Old Republic. Is that a better regime?"

"Apparently not," the commander chuckles. "We were blown up."

Gary laughs, and Hera can't resist smiling. His witty retorts amused her despite the indecision his arguments and questions generated. Hera groans, "What am I going to do with you, commander? If I don't bring you in, someone else will, and they will not…"

"Show mercy?" He laughs cynically. "Honestly, are you going to try for the vane again?"

"No," Hera shakes her head as an intense fear pierces her heart. The grief and helplessness she feels is immaterial compared to the threat the witch poses. "That witch said she has a plan. I'm not a part of it or welcome to have any part."

"Yes," Gorneesh agrees. "She force us. She tricky, you do what she wants, or suffer."

Hera ignores the king, "I owe you, and you need to know. She's powerful in the Force."

The commander grunts in disgust, "Tell me you don't believe that nonsense. I watched the Jedi die, and The Force saved not one."

"I'm serious, commander. I've experienced this sort of power only once before; he captured my whole crew. Then he effortlessly crushed our attempt to turn the tables. It's a miracle we escaped alive. I've never seen an evil to match him until I met that witch."

Gary looks at the commander, deeply concerned. She's spent enough time with them to recognize it, and that's more than she hoped. The commander remains quiet as he thinks about it before he replies, "You're right, general, but you said it yourself. If you don't take me, someone will. Your rebels will bomb our compound without it. I need that vane."

"I know that," Hera admits, then reminds him. "The witch knows that too."

Together they walk to the gate in silence, lost in thought. Then the commander says, "I'll make you a deal. If I ask you something, and if you answer honestly, we're even."

"I can't promise to answer," she replies cautiously, then admits. "You're too dangerous."

He considers her, then, "Where is Grand Admiral Thrawn?"

Hera shivers as a chill races through her, her heart pounding in her ears. Irresistible memories consume her, lashing her with each one. She remembers the Seige of Atollon, the attack of Lothal, and her capture, torture, and drugging at the hands of Governor Price. Her escape and the subsequent death of Kanan. The emotional whirlwind summoned by his name takes time to pass.

Eventually, she takes a deep breath, and Hera whispers. "I don't know."

The commander mistakes her hesitation, her pause as trauma wrecked her, for deception. He snarls, "Why'd I even bother? I should have known you'd lie."

"No! No, I swear I don't know," she insists, stopping him by placing a hand on his chest. Instantly, her hand smears the sticky, half-dried blood of the commander and his enemies. Her palm brushes the arrow shaft still protruding from his chest plate. In her haste to stop him, Hera never noticed how much he'd suffered up to this point. Perhaps it's the drain of her memories. Perhaps the desperate struggle to survive side by side makes her sympathetic to him.

At that moment, their positions on the opposite side of this conflict feels so unbearably tragic. Hera admits something she never dared speak of or even risk contemplating fully. "I lost someone too, someone as close as a son. If I had an inkling of where Thrawn is, if I even heard a whisper or rumor. I'd drop everything. I'd leave immediately in search of them; I swear it."

The commander is quiet for a moment then nods to her. "I hope we don't meet again, general. One of us will almost certainly have to kill the other, but…it's been an honor."

"Thank you, commander," she shakes his hand and exits the village. Finally, she sees her shuttle. "DANK FARRICK, what have you done?"

A Dulok rocks back and forth in the pilot seat. He smiles stupidly, "Good chair!"

"Ha-ha-ha! Called it!" Gary insists. The big rebel shakes Gary's hand; then, the commander salutes him before shaking his hand too. The rebel examines the scrap piles and supplies ripped from the shuttle, chuckles with disbelief, and then limps aboard.

Hera runs a hand over her face, pausing as she climbs the ramp. Then she looks back at the Imperials, "Take care, both of you. May the force be with you."

She closes the ramp and initiates a launch, standing over the socket for her missing seat. Only her duties hold the tempest of her emotions at bay. Sadness, uncertainty, and guilt claw at the walls of her resolve. Still, all of the doubt he created fills her with a desire to prove him wrong.