The Star Destroyer Stormhawk made orbit around Entralla a few days after their squadron's assault on Coruscant. Following the astrogation charts that had been sent by Emperor-Regent Halmere, Daala had managed to evade the major New Republic blockades along the major hyperspace routes. Instead, they had darted down the riskier paths: temporary hyperlanes, or lesser-used ones that required far more precise astrogation.
Daala's opinion of Halmere's leadership may have fallen into the gutter, especially after the news of Poln Major, but she respected his talents as an astrogator. Without his charts, her squadron would have been pinned down and destroyed long since, unable to evade all of the New Republic's pincer movements. Now, they allowed her to escape into Imperial-held territory.
She stood on Stormhawk's long walk and watched the crew work. Captain Markarian was a good officer, a fine officer, one deserving of his rank, but right then she resented him. She was furious with him. That was horribly unfair, because Markarian was not at fault for Kratas' death—ultimately, she was, for sending him to battle when so many, many things could go wrong—but he stood where Kratas had once stood, doing the job Kratas had once done, and she could not help but wish that it was Kratas aboard Stormhawk, and Markarian dead with Tyrannic.
Markarian seemed to know what she was thinking, because his approach was more cautious than she had grown accustomed to. "Grand Admiral?"
She mastered her anger, lest it master her, and schooled her features into a focused calm. Kratas' death is not Markarian's fault. She took a breath. "Yes, Captain?"
"We've received our orders, sir." His caution remained as he extended a datapad for her to take. "Two transports are being sent to us from Entralla Command. They're apparently carrying wounded who are due to receive further treatment at Silencer Station. We've also been told to turn navigational control over to Loyalty Officer Sarreti; he will be guiding us to the Emperor's bastion."
Her lips pressed together, a fresh wave of anger—directed not at Markarian, but at Halmere and his idiot minions—washing over her. "Summon Loyalty Officer Sarreti to the bridge."
"Yes sir." He made to turn away, but then turned back. "If I may, sir, I'm sorry about Captain Kratas. I didn't know him for long, but what little I saw impressed me."
She nodded stiffly. "Thank you, Captain," she said, a touch of thickness creeping back into her voice. She said nothing else, and the silence hung heavy there, like a promise of rain or thunder.
Thankfully, it did not take long for Sarreti to arrive. He was rarely far from the bridge, and if he was far it was always because he had some specific task that had been delegated to him from on high. "Grand Admiral," he said, the initial cheer in his tone dissipating as he saw Daala and Markarian's expressions.
"Emperor-Regent Halmere has ordered Stormhawk to attend him," Daala pronounced. "We've been summoned to his secret lair." The latter words were spoken with such pronounced sarcasm that Markarian winced. "To get there, we are required to turn navigation of this vessel over to you, and you alone."
She did not offer to have an actual astrogator plot their course, and then be shot to ensure the secret was kept, for fear that one of her political superiors would take her up on it and cost her a talented young officer.
Sarreti swallowed. "Ah. Of course," he said after a moment.
"You can plot the course?" Daala pressed.
The Loyalty Officer hesitated, then nodded, holding out a hand expectantly to Markarian before the hawk-nosed officer placed his command-link datapad into it. "Move Stormhawk to these coordinates, Captain Markarian," he ordered, and put a series of numbers into Markarian's datapad. "And I will get us safely to the Emperor-Regent."
He looked distinctly nervous plotting the course into Stormhawk's astrogation computer, the eyes of the entire bridge watching him from a safe distance, but there was no hesitation when he finished inputting the course. "You may engage the hyperdrive, Captain."
Daala nodded at Markarian, and the ship's captain straightened. "Of course." He did it himself, rather than making his helm officer take final responsibility, and it was like the entire bridge crew inhaled at once before the ship vanished into hyperspace.
We did not all die, Daala thought sourly, so that is at least better than nothing.
Cray and Nichos did not have many opportunities to speak privately. Since her success at creating the Silencer command interface and subsequent attempt at escape, she had noticed a clear intensification in the amount of monitoring. Holocams hidden in wall mounts, microphones hidden virtually everywhere… it was becoming harder and harder for them to plot their sabotage of the Empire's plans.
Cray desperately wanted to talk to Nichos about her ideas, too. Yes, they were quietly working to sabotage the Empire, however they could, but they only had access if they made themselves useful. If they simply refused to work, the Empire would just kill them… slowly, painfully, and Nichos first… so they had to work, make their work look valuable, while simultaneously building in flaws that would not be noticed until it was too late.
It did not help that Nichos was getting weaker and weaker. He had never fully recovered from the stun blast he had taken, and feigned weakness had become real weakness. Many days he could not even stand, and the amount of Perogen he required to dull the pain also made it harder for him to concentrate. He still had good days, and on those days the two of them worked together just as they had for all their time at the Magrody Institute and got so much done. But those days were fewer and fewer.
Had they been back at Magrody, she could save him. They had come so far with their work on the Ssi-Ruuk technology, and she was convinced that she could at the very least transfer his consciousness from his own failing body into a fully synthetic one. But there was no way to do that here, so the opportunity was forever lost.
Instead, she worked to improve the TIE droid design, while seeking out the best way to subtly sabotage it. This was more Nichos' specialty than hers; she did better with the actual hardware of cybernetics, while he was the superior programmer. That did not mean she was not capable of doing the work while he was indisposed.
The door to her lab whispered open, and she heard the familiar footsteps of Irek Ismaren. "Have you made progress?"
She sat up and glanced at him. "Some. I'm working to make one of the more advanced AI profiles work with the TIE droid's performance suite. It can work, but the TIE droid's suite is so different from the late-model Techno Union fighters that it needs a lot of tweaking."
It was odd, she thought. When Irek had first started overseeing her work, he'd been more imposing and domineering. But since Irek had succeeded in using the command interface to command the Silencer AI, he had become less dismissive. In particular, she noticed, less dismissive of Nichos.
The young Emperor's gaze found Nichos, where he was sleeping on the reclining couch he so often occupied. "That's a task Doctor Marr is best suited for, isn't it?"
Cray's heart jumped in her chest. Today was not one of Nichos' good days. If he tried to force Nichos to work in his current state…
Since his encounter with Emperor-Regent Halmere, Irek Ismaren had worked diligently to try to accomplish the mission Halmere had set him to. Resentfully, but diligently. He had used the command interface to try to boost the rate at which Silencer Station could construct new TIE Droids and had some minimal success—though only at the cost of slowing the station's further growth. Largely foiled, he had done as his mother suggested and put Cray and Nichos to work.
He needed Nichos to work. There was no other way to meet his mother's demands.
He concentrated. The Force bent to his will and allowed him to do many things, and among those things was to sense and manipulate the minds of others. He wanted Nichos to work. He wanted the TIE Droid to defeat all of his enemies, to establish his unquestioned lordship over the New Order. He wanted, and because he wanted, the Force would give.
Reality itself would warp to his desires, if he wanted it enough.
With the Force solidly in his grip, Irek reached out towards Nichos. The man's mind was in a stupor. Irek felt only a lack of focus, an inability to concentrate, a lack of precision. The painkillers Nichos was on had robbed him of everything that made him useful to Irek, and Irek wanted him to be useful.
So Irek made him useful.
He could feel the Force unwinding the ameliorative effect of the Perogen on Nichos' body. He could feel as the man's mind became active and aware again. Sharpness of thought was restored—along with a sudden spike of meaningless fear, as Nichos realized that something was happening—and there was the brilliant scientist that could fix the TIE Droid! That was what Irek wanted, what he would…
And then, the pain.
Stretched out in the Force as he was, Irek's mind focused so closely on Nichos', the pain did not just strike Nichos. It tore at Irek as well.
His hands and feet were on fire.
Needles thrust through his digits, coming through the other side. Those needles worked up his thighs and down his arms, puncturing his shoulders and knees. All the sharpness of mind that Irek wanted dissolved under the sudden intensity of the onslaught. He crumpled, unable to keep himself standing, feeling like his lungs were on fire, like breathing itself was a chore, and Irek Ismaren would give anything, anything for the pain to stop. He tried to withdraw his senses from Nichos, to retreat from the sudden devastating barrage…
It was Nichos who took back control.
Irek was not sure how long it took. It could have been minutes, or hours, or even days; the pain was consuming, devouring, nibbling away at his mind and thoughts, rendering him dumb. After a time, he realized the pain was beginning to recede. Slowly, excruciatingly, those violent punctures were pushed back into his digits, and were replaced—
Nichos Marr refused to succumb.
He couldn't.
Cray needed him.
He could feel her, clinging to his chest, urging him back to her. Distantly, he could feel Irek Ismaren too. That was an odd sensation, one of touch without touch, one that roiled with agony that matched his own. But Cray was the one who mattered, Cray was the one he loved. She needed him, and he would not succumb. Not until he knew, he knew, that she would be all right.
He fought for Cray Mingla.
At some point he realized what had happened. He wasn't sure how, but Irek had neutralized the effects of the Perigen in his system all at once, and the pain had erupted over him in its absence. He also wasn't sure how he fought the pain back, how he brought himself back to sanity, but he did. His hands and feet were afire, excruciating, but it was just pain. Pain he knew. Pain he had grown accustomed to, over weeks turned to months. Pain he could defeat.
He wrapped his arms around Cray Mingla and hugged her tight, ignoring the way his hands hurt when he did. The pain was irrelevant. Cray was what mattered.
Slowly, excruciatingly, those violent punctures were pushed back into Irek's digits, and were replaced with a sudden, soaring sense of love.
It made his own attraction to Cray seem like a petty thing. Commitment, promise, companionship all wrapped together into one, Irek was suddenly and quite inadvertently subjected to a powerful burst of Nichos' feelings. It lasted only a second, because the mental connection Irek had forged with Nichos burst under its intensity, shattering to nothing, and instantly all the pain he felt was gone.
He stumbled to his feet and left without an acknowledgement or an apology.
Cray Mingla was on the couch by Nichos' chest, clinging to him. Nichos was hugging her back… and Irek was amazed that Nichos' hands only trembled. In an instant lasting forever, Irek Ismaren understood.
Stormhawk's trip from Entralla to its destination—whatever that was, Daala thought—took more than a day. It required multiple hyperspace jumps, presumably to navigate along the less-well-known routes of the outer Outer Rim and to avoid any kind of pursuit. The secrecy of this place was taken very seriously.
Now they were here. Wherever 'here' was.
"Full system scan," she ordered as Stormhawk came out of hyperspace. "I want a detailed report."
"Yes, sir!"
The system was dense with planets and planetoids. Ten planets and three asteroid belts were the system's defining characteristic. The route that Sarreti had programmed brought them in on a predictable course, one aiming at what appeared to be a particularly dense portion of the third asteroid belt.
"That's strange," Markarian said.
"What is, Captain?"
He gestured at the plot. "This asteroid belt is still consolidating, sir. I think it must have been a planet sometime recently. All the matter is concentrated here, not spread in a typical ring. It doesn't look like it's settled into a stable set of orbits yet. I imagine it's quite dangerous to get too close."
"Bring us above the system plane," Daala ordered. "And raise shields to maximum. Warn damage repair teams that we may suffer impact damage."
"Yes, sir."
She lifted a hand and crooked a finger at Loyalty Officer Sarreti, inclining that he should approach. "Yes, Grand Admiral?" he asked as he came near.
"What happened here, Loyalty Officer?"
Sarreti's lips pressed together. "I'm afraid I don't know the specifics. But you'll see enough to understand when we get close."
Daala did not like that answer. "Are we in danger here?"
Sarreti took a reluctant breath. "I think proximity to the Emperor is inherently dangerous, Grand Admiral."
An honest answer. And also a warning. She could work with that. "Reduce our approach velocity," she ordered. "Turbolaser batteries, keep watch for stray asteroids or other incoming. Do not fire without specific orders."
The officers in the crew pits called their understanding.
Beside her, Sarreti watched the plot. "Bring up the forward scopes," he murmured to her. "And I suggest bringing us to a stop here, rather than approaching closer. If the crew doesn't see Silencer Station, my superiors at ISB are less likely to deem them security risks."
"All engines, stop," Daala ordered, glancing at him sideways. "And bring me a pair of macrobinoculars."
Markarian handed her a pair; she handed them to Sarreti. The ISB Loyalty Officer stood in front of the bridge window, focusing their lenses. Then, expressionlessly, he handed the macrobinoculars to Daala.
It took her brain a few moments to process what she was seeing. There was indeed a planet—or what was left of one—in the center of a dense cloud of shattered rocks. Hovering over the planet's surface was an enormous, gray and black rectangle. As she adjusted the macrobinoculars she could see it more clearly: really, it was two mostly-square portions, attached by a thick connecting portion. On either side, the rectangle had enormous leg-like appendages, which ended with portions that looked like massive AT-AT hooves. Below the ship, space itself seemed to shimmer, and she could see matter being sucked up into the space station, as if it was feeding off the corpse of the dead planet.
The station had the mass of many Imperial-class Star Destroyers.
She handed the macrobinoculars to Markarian, then as the Captain took his own look, she turned to Sarreti. "Silencer Station?"
"Yes, Grand Admiral," Sarreti confirmed.
"That is where the TIE droids are constructed?" she asked.
Sarreti nodded. "It's an arms manufactory," he said, keeping his voice low enough that it wouldn't carry across the open bridge. "And it is Emperor and Empress-Regent Ismaren's personal fiefdom."
Markarian lowered the macrobinoculars. "How capable a manufactory is it?" he asked.
"I know it isn't fully operational," Sarreti said. "There have been some issues bringing it to full capacity. But the Inquisitors have told ISB that once it is fully capable, it will be able to construct not just TIEs, but also ships the size of Star Destroyers, in sufficient numbers to smother the New Republic." He took the macrobinoculars and looked once again. When he lowered them, his expression was slightly awed, and a bit fearful. "It's still growing."
"Growing?"
"When I first saw Silencer Station, Grand Admiral, it was less than half the size it is now," he said.
Beside her, Markarian inhaled with surprise. "How big will it get?" asked Daala.
"I don't think there's a limit to its potential size," Sarreti said. "We should approach via a shuttle. I have my transport and crew, they've all been here before."
"Captain Markarian, you're to stay here to mind your ship," Daala ordered.
"Yes, Grand Admiral," Markarian said, clearly relieved.
She gestured at the turbolift. "After you, Loyalty Officer Sarreti."
The true size of Silencer Station became all-too-obvious on their approach. Not as large as the Death Star had been, Silencer Station was nonetheless enormous. The fact that it was growing became more clear to Daala as they got close enough for her to see the station's hull with her bare eyes. The outer hull was in slow, constant motion, components shifting slightly as new components were incorporated into its frame. Below the ship, a swell of shimmering light sucked up the mass from the broken planet beneath it, drawing it into the station's two massive maws, one on either side, centered on each of the station's two centers of mass. The amount of raw material the station was consuming was on par with what a shipyard like Bilbringi consumed, if not more.
Daala could also see the station's defenses. The ship's exterior was lined with turbolaser batteries and tractor beam emitters meant for combating large enemy ships, and swarms of hundreds of TIE Droids circled it on CAP. The droid starfighters ignored Sarreti's shuttle as they approached, paying them no attention whatsoever.
In fact, there was none of the typical formality. No approach challenge. No escort. Silencer Station had identified them and determined they were not a threat, and that was all.
The main hangar was in the middle section of Silencer Station. Unlike the other components, this part was thickly armored and not undergoing the same kind of constant transformation. "I don't think anyone lives or works on the sides," Sarreti commented from beside her, watching—as she was—their approach towards the station. "It's all managed by droids, and I don't think those sections are even pressurized. The central core is where the people are."
"How does it work?"
"The technical details are beyond me," Sarreti admitted. "But I know that the station is built around something called a 'molecular furnace.' It takes the raw materials of the planet and uses them to construct whatever it's told to. Of course, the primary product of Silencer Station is TIE droids."
"How many TIE droids can it build at a time?" she asked.
Sarreti shrugged. "I don't know for sure. What I do know is the intent originally was to build thousands each month, if not more, but the station's production rate has never reached those predictions."
Hence Halmere's failure to deliver the TIEs he originally promised me, Daala thought sourly.
They passed through the magnetic shields into the hangar. Inside, Daala could see the lines of humanoid forms, prepared as an honor guard, and the singular, smaller, white-and-black armored form of Emperor-Regent Halmere. She straightened her white Grand Admiral's uniform, making sure all the wrinkles had been worked out of the fabric. When the shuttle touched down, she was waiting at the top of the ramp, and her feet touched the station's deck shortly after the ramp finished its descent.
As she had expected, none of the lines of troopers were actually people. Black metal figures armed with large blaster rifles, they looked sort of like stormtroopers but on closer inspection the differences were all-too-obvious.
The entire thing sent a shiver down her spine.
Unlike the last time she had met him, Halmere was alone. She snapped to salute. "Grand Admiral Daala, reporting as ordered, your highness."
"Welcome to Silencer Station, Grand Admiral Daala," Halmere said. His voice had a dull, eerie quality to it, almost as lacking in verve as the droid chorus he had serenaded her with upon their last meeting. "I have reviewed your report. Your assault on Coruscant was inspired and I appreciate that you knew when to strip our outposts of ships that would no longer be able to protect them. The loss of Corellia is dire, but at least you saved some of our loyal ships and their crews."
"Thank you, Your Highness."
"We will of course retake all we have lost," Halmere continued in that same dull tone. "Despite our recent setbacks, this station will provide all we need to secure the future of the New Order and crush the New Republic."
"How may I be of assistance, Emperor-Regent?"
"We are taking stock of our remaining resources," Halmere replied. "Loyalty Officer Sarreti, I want you to oversee the transfer of wounded from Stormhawk to Silencer Station. Attend to your duties at once."
Sarreti looked at her, then bowed and took a step back. "Of course, Emperor-Regent. I will see to it." He spun on his heels and retreated, already reaching for his wristcomm.
"As for you, Grand Admiral Daala, I want you to review all the assets the Empire has left, including what is available to the disloyal warlords in the Deep Core, and develop a battle plan. I trust you will be more competent at this than Admiral Valentin proved to be."
Daala restrained herself from pointing out that she had told him, very specifically, that Valentin was an idiot. After all, she had command now. What had already been lost could not be regained by pointing out that fact… and Halmere might accuse her of treason if she displeased him.
Both self-preservation, and her honest assessment there was no one else left in the Empire who could competently command the Starfleet, summoned her obedient response. "Of course, Emperor-Regent," she said. "Until I am dead or unfit to serve."
The pair of medical transports soared into the hangar on parallel courses. Expertly flown, they both settled to the deck of the large main hangar bay. Once they were on the ground, medical droids swarmed over them to assist the wounded.
One of the medical droids rolled up to Sarreti. "How many wounded are aboard these two vessels?" it asked, in its passably-soothing voice. Medical droids were designed to put their sentient patients at ease, but were mediocre at best at doing so.
"Four thousand all told," Sarreti told the droid. "You have medical facilities adequate to their needs here?"
"Of course," the droid said, its eyes flickering. "We could attend many more. How many of the wounded are pilots? Pilots are our priority patients; their skills are vital to the Empire in this trying time."
"Not many," Sarreti said, checking his datapad. After the repeated defeats of the Imperial Starfleet, TIE fighters had become a precious resource, and TIE pilots even more so. "A few dozen at most."
"That will have to suffice," the droid said. "Please inform Imperial command at Entralla that Silencer Station has facilities to ensure that the Starfleet's pilot corps will be able to return to duty as quickly as possible, and that priority should be placed on sending wounded pilots here whenever possible, even in small numbers."
Sarreti frowned, unsure why Silencer Station—which was designed to produce droids, not care for people—would have the finest medical facilities in the Empire for the care of pilots. But, he supposed, that was not his call. "Of course." He looked around. "Do you have any immediate human superiors, droid?"
"Our immediate superior is Empress Dowager Ismaren," the droid reported obediently. All around them, the wounded were being loaded onto a variety of repulsorsleds; the hum of repulsors filled the room as the sleds lifted up off the ground and started to make their way towards the exits, escorted by medical droids. "But she is not currently available for consultation."
"Do you have a second-in-command?"
"Both Bevel Lemelisk and Nasdra Magrody have been retired from active service," the droid said.
Sarreti waited for the droid to say more. He frowned deeper when the droid did not elaborate. "So this entire operation is managed by droids?"
"Loyalty Officer, I can assure you that we are more than capable of seeing to all the needs of the Empire," the droid reproached.
Something about all this gave Sarreti the hives. "Perhaps I can visit your operations later, then. Attend to the wounded and ensure that they are in good spirits. Humans often appreciate seeing a friendly face." Especially if their only alternative was a creepy medical droid.
The droid swiveled to look at him. "Loyalty Officer Sarreti, what is your ISB clearance rating?"
Sarreti frowned. What did that have to do with anything? "I was ranked Lieutenant Colonel before I was promoted to Loyalty Officer. Specific clearance ratings are at the discretion of the senior command hierarchy."
"Please wait." The droid went dark, though occasional lights flashed side to side in its eyes. "Upload link to the Ubiqtorate database established. Verifying identity and command authorization. State your name and rank."
His frown deepened. "Ephin Sarreti, Loyalty Officer assigned to Grand Admiral Daala."
"Voiceprint verification complete." The droid's eyes illuminated, but the light in them was narrowed to a dot. "Please look into my eyes, Loyalty Officer."
Sarreti was starting to get really freaked out, but he obeyed. He leaned forward and made direct eye contact with the medical unit, as if he were undergoing an eye exam.
"Retinal verification complete. Identity verified. Thank you, Loyalty Officer Ephin Sarreti." The droid withdrew, its eyes returning to normal. "Project access authorization confirmed. You may accompany me, if you wish."
Despite his misgivings, he did.
The hospital corridor was extremely well lit; either side of it was lined with numerous doors. Peeking inside, Sarreti saw men lying in medical beds. The treatment rooms were entirely silent, without any conversation between the wounded officers and their nurse droids.
"You sedated them?"
"Examinations and operations occur in an unconscious state unless consciousness is required," the medical droid said.
Sarreti snapped his mouth shut. "Operations?" he asked warily.
He should not have asked.
Ephin Sarreti got off Silencer Station as quickly as possible. He spent the entire trip back to Stormhawk retching in the shuttle's confined refresher until his stomach was empty but his nausea remained.
He told himself he would feel better in the morning, but sleep was long in coming, and when it came the nightmares were even more terrible than his waking hours. The smiling officers, who had thought they were being taken to a medical facility to treat their wounds, refused to leave him be.
"I didn't know," he pleaded in his dreams. "I didn't know."
But now he did.
He did know.
He tried, briefly, to rationalize it. There was a logic to the madness. And they were all Imperials, they had all sworn the oath. But with what Roganda had cooked up in her house of horrors, that oath took on a whole new meaning.
If this is what it takes to preserve the New Order, Ephin Sarreti asked himself in the privacy of his own mind, locked behind a transparisteel cage of mental discipline, is the New Order worth preserving?
But that wasn't the right question, he realized.
If the New Order is willing to do this to its own people, was it ever the thing I imagined it to be? That my father imagined it to be?
It was a simple question. Ephin Sarreti found a simple answer.
No.