Chapter 19
Seventeen hours after the commander promised an EVAC
The stairs stretch into infinity, taking all of the commander's willpower to climb them. Wearily, he focuses on one shaky step after another. Grey uniformed fleet officers, black-clad pilots, and technicians of every imaginable kind pass him. They salute respectfully, adding "Sir" or "Commander." When he reaches the top of the stairs, the commander takes another step, almost stumbling. Gary notices it and corrals him, "Captain Wither awaits an update, sir."
He stares at the floor, unable to comprehend it. He nods absently, turning and heading that way. Two stormtroopers guard the door now, still as statues until he arrives.
They mash a button, and the door whisks open before both salute, "Good evening, sir!"
"At ease," he mutters as he enters the office. His shoulder won't move; shamefully, he can't even return the salute. Once inside the door, his vision darkens, and bright colors streak.
"I don't understand how you look even worse than last time," Doctor Wither mutters from behind her desk. "After two hours of arbitration, Iona reached Imperial command, but they'll only speak with you. Meanwhile, our ranks have swelled thanks to Vee and Simmz."
Standing off to the side of the window, Simmz the storm commando looks him up and down. Simmz grumbles, "Mostly Vee, but we secured a lot of gear. No vane, huh, sir?"
The death trooper and the royal guardsman watch him silently.
He makes two steps into the office before it angles, collapsing. It's all he can do to land in a sitting position, slumped, with his legs sprawled. All at once, the doctor rushes from behind her desk, and Gary shuts the door.
"What happened?" Doctor Wither demands.
"Things are unraveling faster than I predicted," the commander admits.
"Ewoks poisoned him," Gary replies, pointing at the puncture in his pauldron.
"I thought he looked off," Simmz states. "Where's the vane?"
"Do you know what kind of poison?" Wither asks as she pulls a medical scanner from her pocket. Then she draws a cylindrical object, an oscillating light flashes as she runs it over him.
"No idea," Gary replies, moving behind the commander. "He can't move it, and it was causing him a lot of pain. I gave him a shot of bacta, but that only held it off."
"So instead of shields," Simmz comments. "We have a new blurrg…spectacular work."
All of this passes with the barest of awareness from the commander. He wanders in and out of consciousness, unable to resist, as both his current injuries and prior ones take their toll.
In a moment of lucidity, he studies the death trooper in his gleaming black armor with green lights in his helmet. Then he examines the royal guardsman, still wearing ceremonial armor of bright crimson, including the shimmering red cape.
"If you want to kill me and take my job. You won't have a better chance than this."
Both are inscrutable behind their helmets. Doctor Wither stiffens, and Gary jerks, then simultaneously turns to look at the pair. The captain slips the scanner in one hand. Then her other hand rests on her pistol. Suddenly, the door beeps, interrupting, and a light flashes, "Hey, why is this locked? It's Gale. Lieutenant…just let me in."
The death trooper leans forward—but before anyone can react, the royal guardsman raises his force pike to the trooper's throat. Stalled by his lightning reflexes, the death trooper flinches back. Doctor Wither draws her pistol while Gary surges back, unlocks the door, then raises his carbine. Gale takes one look and draws his blaster while the two guards echo him.
The death trooper speaks; unfortunately, his vocal scrambler spits out static. He turns it off and declares, "Whoa! I don't want your job. It looks awful."
They look at the royal guardsman. Abruptly he withdraws his pike, returning to his statuesque stillness. Hesitantly, they lower their blasters. Gale closes the door as Doctor Wither returns to examine the commander. The stormtroopers remain inside, holding the entrance.
"This is an anti-toxin," the doctor injects it into his neck. "It'll work; I pray it works."
He feels the pinch of the injection and a chill before darkness swallows him.
Two hours earlier in General Syndula's camp.
A medical team rushes into the shuttle before the ramp touches the ground. Hera stands up straight, her back tight from leaning over the controls during her flight. She stretches before leaving the cockpit; meanwhile, weariness and soreness compete for her attention. The general ignores both as she watches a doctor decide the Sullustan is beyond help and focuses on the human. The big man waves them off while the medics seal his comrade in a bag for transport.
"General," the doc calls. "Please order your trooper stand down."
"I'm fine," he grumbles. "There's no one here to relieve me and take over my duties."
"Relax," she steps closer to him and places a hand on his shoulder. "We're not done here. I'm going to need you again-soon. Let them look you over so you can return to work."
He exhales unhappily but sits, letting them poke and prod to their hearts' content. Then he calls, "Are we going after the commander again?"
"I hope not," Hera pauses to collect herself. "…but even generals must follow orders."
The doctor looks at her, "Now, it's your turn, ma'am. Yes, that's an order."
She continues, "I'm fine."
"I'll be the judge of that," the doctor blocks her path. "Mon Mothma ordered me-."
"I don't have time," She evades him by darting around the medics carrying the Sullustan's body before exiting the shuttle. "Excuse me, doctor."
She walks swiftly to the command tent, where lord Dyer waits outside. He puts up his hands to stall her, "Hold on, general. Mon Mothma is convening a council of senior leadership."
"I am senior leadership," she declares before entering, and a flustered Lord Dyer follows. Within the leader of the pathfinders, several officers, pilots, and her staff listen to Mon Mothma's bluish hologram. She isn't alone; beside her hologram is General Dodonna. Her appearance startles them, a few even gasping. Chief Chirpa stiffens before sniffing the air.
Mon Mothra frowns, "General Syndula, thank you for joining us."
"I'm at your service, my lady." She responds politely after realizing she barged into and interrupted the meeting. Her grief and anger made her impertinent, so Hera reigns in her feelings. "Please continue, and I'll give you my report once you're finished."
"In conclusion, our forces are pressing on all fronts. Although Imperial forces are consolidating and stiffening their defenses, they have failed to contain us. Mass defections and surrenders are bolstering our forces, but many Imperials continue fighting. General Dodonna…"
Mon Mothra yields the floor to the general. The elderly gentleman steps forward with his hands open, "Rumors swirl of an Operation Cinder, and we have precious little information. General Solo's intel was priceless but left us with more questions than answers. If you discover anything, inform us straight away. Lastly, our attack on Research Station 9 is proceeding well. Major Shin captured an AT-AT, and it is advancing upon the main doors."
"Excuse me," Hera interrupts. "What operation and where is Research Station 9?"
Dodonna and Mon Mothra exchange a look before the general states, "While you pursued the remaining Imperial forces; data mining of General Solo's intelligence revealed a hidden base in another region. This research station is studying the climate disruption and gravitational effects the Deathstar had on Endor. We believe the Empire intended to weaponize these forces."
"Your preoccupation with that stormtrooper," Mon Mothra's voice sours. Hera knows she doesn't use words frivolously. "-prevented your involvement. Major Shin took the lead."
"I understand," Hera replies evenly. "Major Shin is an excellent commander."
"If you'll excuse us," Mon Mothma announces. "We'd like a word with the general."
Chief Chirpa taps his staff loudly before the protocol droid with him declares, "Chief Chirpa—insists—that he remain and voice his concerns."
"With your permission," the pathfinders declares. "I'll stay too."
Her staff flees the tent without looking into Hera's eyes. Chief Chirpa and the pathfinder are stiff, turned towards her but refuse to look at her too. Hera studies Mon Mothma, eyes narrowing, and she realizes they knew this was coming. Did they orchestrate it? Tension rises in her; she supported me when few others would have, when the rebellion was in its infancy. Alternatively, Hera admits: the Rebellion is ascending now.
The commander's words haunt her, "You don't understand yet, general. You're the Empire now." Suddenly, the room feels like an ambush, a trap set to isolate her.
Lord Dyer remains, "Lady Mon Mothma, may I stay?"
Mon Mothma waves dismissively, "Very well. General Syndula, we've received some concerning reports about you. Care to explain why that would be?"
Is she trying to make me feel defensive?Hera trusts Mon Mothma to do what's best for the galaxy, but at that moment, she feels betrayed. Her grief and weariness twist Mon Mothma's words into an attack, one she angrily wants to refute. But even hurt, exhausted, and bloody, Hera knows that's the wrong decision. She clamps her mouth shut and reins in her feelings.
"That would be difficult since I have not received or reviewed these reports," Hera points out coldly. "No one has spoken to me about it, and I have an open-door policy. Although, I might have been preoccupied securing Endor."
A twitch, a slight widening of Mon Mothma's eyes, as her word is thrown back at her. From anyone else, it's equivalent to a flinch or shout of surprise. Mon Mothma has been a senator for decades and controls her expressions with an iron will, remaining placid at even the more dire moments. Did you think I wouldn't defend myself? Hera wonders silently.
"…but I'm available now," Hera cuts Mon Mothma off before she can reply, intentionally rebuking her. "Let's review them together. In fact, let's invite my staff and the other units to have a proper discussion. Everyone can speak freely, and we'll get to the bottom of this."
The leader of the Alliance to Restore the Republic's eyes widen as her lips press together. General Dodonna rushes to say, "That won't be necessary!"
They don't want it public, Hera notes. Her mind races with excuses; maybe they think she's having a meltdown from stress. Perhaps they believe she's compromised because the commander spared her. These are two people she's fought, suffered, and struggled beside. Here and now, at the end of the war, she doesn't want to believe they'd turn on her. Unfortunately, that's what she feels. Even now, Hera desperately wants to believe the best of them.
The general closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. There's a chance they'll see it as weakness or an example of instability. Still, she takes that moment to summon up all her reserves. "I can understand if I seem erratic. My decisions haven't gone the way I wanted, but if you let me explain, I believe you'll come to understand why and even agree with me."
Mon Mothma frowns, but General Dodonna strokes his beard and nods. Hera begins by explaining her failed assault on the bunker. Despite the shame of her defeat, "…with the captain of the Pathfinders slain and a blade at my throat. I was determined to save our troops."
"You told Captain Rex you only intended reconnaissance but attacked instead."
Lord Dyer defends her unexpectedly, "The general's attack should have succeeded with or without the commander. The Emperor's death broke us; there was no fight left in us."
"Instead," Mon Mothma points out. "The doctor captured her."
"Captain Wither isn't just a doctor," Lord Dyer counters. "She's an elite ISB agent. Wither isn't even her name; it's a cover for that facility. She presented herself as a sympathetic ear to the detainees after isolation or interrogation. At the same time, she kept her eyes on her commanders, who perceived her as another softhearted healer. She manipulated them all. She's the whole reason I went there. The Empire will happily abandon all of us, but ISB always recovers their own. They have too many secrets; dangerous secrets that must remain hidden."
"This seems like someone we should capture," General Dodonna suggests.
"That's up to command," Hera responds before she continues. She summarizes her experience, concluding with their ambush by the Lightfoot.
"This is an outrageous accusation!" Chief Chirpa yells. He thumps his staff with each word, forcing the protocol droid to raise its voice. "What evidence is there?"
"I returned with the body of a rebel officer, slain by Ewok arrows," Hera asserts calmly. "My other comrade will confirm everything I'm saying now, and his wounds will match them."
"Care to explain why Ewoks attacked our forces, Chief Chirpa?" Mon Mothma asks.
"We don't know what happened! You sided with the Duloks, our ancient enemies! Even if unprovoked," Chief Chirpa disputes. "I am the chieftain of the Bright Tree, not Lightfoot."
"You knew our plans and spoke with the Lightfoot," Hera argued. "I saw you with their chieftain before we left this very camp."
"I fought beside the Lightfoot," the pathfinder insists. "They are courageous warriors."
"Their courage is not in question, Captain Kensington," Dodonna points out.
Chief Chirpa angrily waves his staff. "What did you expect? You go to the Dulok village with a ship full of supplies. Our people could use them. Instead, you give to our enemies."
"The Dulok are your enemy, not ours," Mon Mothma insists. "Meanwhile, the Empire remains a threat to us all. The Lightfoot's actions put everything at risk."
"She stood with the Empire against Ewoks!" Chief Chirpa slams his staff. "I can still smell my people's blood on her!"
"They weren't trying to kill me," Hera insists. "The Lightfoot did and killed my guard."
"You knew our plan, Chief Chirpa," Mon Motha reminds him. "The Alliance vowed to keep the peace. We will not take sides in an ethnic conflict, especially if you instigate one. The Alliance stands ready to mediate a truce if you allow us."
"Mediate!" Chief Chirpa spits the word. "Peace with Duloks! They have been our enemy for as long as any can remember! They are sneaky, treacherous thieves. If not for Lightfoot and Bright Tree, your rebellion would have died. Now, you break our agreements and make demands? Who are you to lecture us when you cannot even protect yourselves?"
General Dodonna cautions, "We owe you a great debt, but we will not be threatened."
"I'm sure the chieftain didn't mean it like that," Kensington argues.
"Perhaps we should table this until we can gather more evidence," Mon Mothma offers.
"No!" Chief Chirpa roars, startling them. "She stood with your enemies, and you blame this on me! No! We do not trust her! You must choose! Her or us!"
"Captain Kensington," General Dodonna. "What is your opinion?"
The pathfinder takes a deep breath and looks at each in turn before he admits, "I have the utmost respect for General Syndula, but…I've lost faith in her ability to act objectively."
Hera tries her best, but a sinking feeling overwhelms her. She wants to feel betrayed, knows she should feel that way, but doesn't have the energy for it. Instead, her emotions feel flat and cold, disinterested.
Mon Mothma and Dodonna share a look before she says, "General Syndula, please step outside."