Chapter 14

Three indentures sit on the waiting room sofa outside of Vice Admiral Virta's office: a Kubaz, a Wookiee, and a grey-skinned, four-armed woman from a species with which Slake is completely unfamiliar. Two stormtroopers loom over the trio with their carbines at the ready. Slake notices that the Kubaz doesn't have their traditional protective eyewear. It squints painfully under the low light of the office.

The stormtroopers notice Slake at the door and snap to attention.

"Baroness," says the canned voice coming out of the stormtrooper's speakers. There's equipment in the helmets to make all troopers sound like the same human man. She wonders what the person underneath the helmet really sounds like. Does he enjoy threatening and beating on people all day?

"Where is this Kubaz's goggles?" she asks the stormtrooper.

"Vice Admiral Virta doesn't believe they need them, Captain. We confiscated them upon arrival." Altered voice or no, she can still hear the sneer in it.

"Hm. And how would Vice Admiral Virta like it if he was made to stare into a sun for all his waking hours?"

The trooper stammers. "Baroness?"

"You're going to call this vessel's Chief Steward. Not in ten minutes. Not in five. Right now. By Master Exel's orders, you will return every set of protective eyewear to every Kubaz aboard this ship. If you're missing just one, I will personally see to it that you, KX215, are on exo duty, cleaning the ports during the next asteroid storm."

The storm trooper stands stock still, doing nothing.

"Did I stutter, Private?"

"With respect, Baroness. You're not Master Exel."

Slake is unnerved from the experience in the lower decks, facing a threat she didn't know how to manage.

An insubordinate stormtrooper, by comparison, is an entirely different matter. Slake flashes predator's teeth at the trooper. "What did you just say to me?" She tilts her head. "I didn't hear it. Maybe you'd care to rephrase."

"Nothing. Baroness."

"Do what I said. Now."

The trooper activates his comm and makes the call to the Steward's office. Slake looks at the state of the indentures on the sofa. The Wookiee's fur looks matted, broken by scars on his shoulders. She can only assume those scars are even more prominent on his back. Still, he sits straight up, proud, not all the way broken. Not yet.

The four-armed woman is more of an anomaly. She has purple-grey skin and large features, a big nose, strong jaw. Her eyes are expressive and inquisitive underneath a terribly unflattering, bowl-cut the color of gunmetal. She may be visiting the Vice Admiral but Slake can tell that the woman is not intimidated in the slightest. This indenture seems slightly bored, like she's seen this kind of autocracy before. She knows the rules, its habits.

Virta emerges from his office carrying a small swagger stick – gone out of fashion with most senior officers, but the Vice Admiral seems to take great pleasure in whipping it into his underarm. He glares at the indentures, the threat of physical violence silently and effectively communicated.

Virta sees the stormtrooper in a conversation over comms that he did not authorize. "What's going on here?"

The storm trooper not on the comms gestures at Slake and begins to speak. Slake cuts him off with a hard step forward. "Vice Admiral Virta. The privates and I were just discussing how ineffective it is to deprive these Kubaz of their eyesight. Exel wants refining production up, and I would think the first step is to ensure we're not blinding our supporting indentures for no reason whatsoever." Big smile.

Virta looks at Slake with disgust. He's smart enough to know that this isn't the hill he wants to die on with her. That doesn't mean he has to like it.

"Good. Appease the Baroness," he says to the trooper who's already on the comms, appeasing the Baroness. He continues. "Captain Slake, I assume your visit isn't just to pamper our indentures."

"I've come for an update on your investigation into the stray cannister."

Virta bristles anew. "You know, Slake, I received no such communique that you're my new commanding officer. And last I checked, Vice Admiral has more rank than a Captain. Baroness or no."

Slake's anger blooms in her chest. She's always been profoundly frustrated with officers who coast on the decorum afforded to them by rank.

"My squadron is charged with the protection of Grand Imperial assets in this system. My duty goes beyond mere rank and hierarchy, Vice Admiral. This is about the safety of critical personnel. This is about protecting valuable resources that can help us to win our war against the Rebels. It's about protecting you. So, if you please, do provide me with an update."

Virta just stares at her for a moment. Then he turns to the indentured woman with four arms. "Chef Gormaanda. Rise."

The four-armed woman has her eyes locked on Virta's swagger stick. Slake notices a small button on its hilt. She stands, albeit reluctantly.

Virta sees her eyes on the button. "Oh. Worried about this, are you?"

The woman doesn't speak.

"Slake, if you were unaware, the entire indenture security system on Profundity goes through this little button on my swagger stick. Quite sophisticated actually. It works in conjunction with the collars and the shipboard AI to identify exactly who I'm speaking with. I don't have to point it, I don't have to state the indenture's slave number. I just push the button, and Gormaanda here is on the floor, screaming."

Slake notices all four of the woman's hands are shaking.

"I often find that I don't even have to press a button to get what I want. They just have to see the button. Gormaanda. Tell me what's on the menu this evening. For the senior officers, of course. I care not whatever slop the captains get." Virta winks at Slake derisively.

Gormaanda breathes deep, steadies her voice. "Sir. The senior officers will have four courses. A mustafarian bread plate will start the evening, followed by a Felucian shrimp course. We will then serve a choice of braised bantha shortrib with a fig-fruit demi-glace, tuber-Tumeric purée, and nightshade flora. Or Kashyyyk whitefish. For your tastes, sir, I would recommend the bantha, but I can tell you more about the whitefish if you prefer."

"You know I would not prefer, Gormaanda," he hovers his thumb over the button, enjoying watching her squirm. "Brevity. That's something I would like you to work on. I haven't even heard the fourth course, yet."

"Dessert. Chandrilan Air Cake." Her voice quivers.

"Not that brief, idiot."

Slake can't stand to watch this woman suffer any further. "Virta, that's enough."

"Chocolate. Cream of Jogan fruit. Terateak fruit jelly." she says, her voice rising slightly. A low guttural rumble comes from the Wookiee, who looks like he's about to separate Virta's face from his skull.

"Excellent! One last question."

"Damn it, Virta. Stop it."

"Do you have any updates for the Baroness? On the cannister that flew out of Nixus-4?"

Gormaanda looks panicked. She has no idea what to say. "Sir? I'm… I'm just the head chef."

"Terrible update. One reprimand."

Virta presses the button and a jolt courses through the Gormaanda's shock collar, bringing her to her knees. Her face twists in agony. She's in too much pain to even scream. The Wookiee rises from the sofa with a deafening roar and Virta triggers his collar with a longer and more vicious shock, putting him on the floor in writhing mass of fur. The Kubaz stays put, quivering on the couch, muttering in his strange language of clicks and buzzes. Likely a prayer.

"There's your update, Slake. Do check back tomorrow."

"Monster," Slake growls through her teeth, powerless to do anything else. "Incompetent monster."

"If I were you, I'd mind my mouth. Someone might suspect you're a Rebel sympathizer." He walks away, then turns back. "To be clear, I don't think that. I just think you're Exel's whore. But someone might just report you to the ISB anyway." He smiles politely, then kneels down to Gormaanda, who's on all four hands and knees.

"Gormaanda, about the bantha course. Make it bloody. If you overseason it again, I'll put you out of the airlock and watch the hole take you."

Virta rises to his feet. "Slake, since you're so friendly with these indentures, you can scrape them off of my floor and walk them back to their stations." He then dismisses the troopers.

Virta offers a sadistic grin and steps back into his office. He closes the door, leaving all four unsupervised.

There's no fighting back. Terror keeps everyone, even Slake, in line.