Chapter 13
The Grand Commander
"Is that necessary, sir?" Iona asks pointedly. The turbolift hums softly as they ride to the bridge. Until then, the Grand Commander was lost in thought and Serrano is silent and still.
He looks at the poorly maintained, heavy rotary blaster. Fond memories from the Clone Wars awaken instantly; although, he wonders if nostalgia misleads him. The rush of memories arrives tainted with a million more of terror, violence, and loss. Slung across his chest with the filthy strap he took earlier, the commander represses the urge to roll his injured shoulder.
Serrano turns, drawn by the commander's slow response. Unlike the other two, the red-armored royal guard is immaculate. Not even his crimson cloak shows a sign of wear.
Iona's grey uniform is ripped. Her blast vest wraps tightly around her petite form, darkened with dirt and blood stains. Her helmet is dented. Her face is dirty, bruised, and her lip is cut. She looks at the heavy weapon meaningfully, and eventually, concern touches her eyes.
"Don't worry, Iona. It's only for show."
Serrano watches them, then looks straight forward.
"Serrano."
"Sir?"
"You need to ask questions when you have them," the Grand Commander asserts. "Our…responsibilities are evolving, rapidly. There's little need for the galaxy's greatest bodyguards, but we're desperately short of skilled fighters and leaders."
"Yes, sir," the royal guardsman replies. Then remains silent.
"Serrano."
"Yes? …yes sir. Wouldn't I serve better on the battlecruiser?"
"Tactically yes, but strategically no," the commander replies. "We're walking into a battle as dangerous as the last. Every officer was summoned, except the combat veterans."
"Captain Keel was summoned," Iona points out.
"Yes, he was. Why do you think the other officers were excluded but not him?"
"The combat officers are engaged, injured, or pacifying the cruiser," Serrano answers.
"That is a polite response, master sergeant, but the Empire needs critical analysis. Iona?"
She opens her mouth, pauses, looks at the royal guard and hesitates. Finally, beneath the commander's unrelenting stare, she details. "Agent Windsor said Admiral Antonio ended the plan to exile or imprison you. But the admiral didn't call the meeting. Captain Shilling summoned them, specifically excluding the combat-oriented officers except Captain Keel."
"I know you were listening Iona, you're a comm officer. Why? What does it mean?"
"Captain Shilling feels so threatened, that he tried to unite command against you. He knows Captain Keel and assumed he'd fall in line if he could convince everyone else."
"Correct," the commander replies and Serrano stiffens so slightly, it's barely perceptible. He wouldn't have noticed if he wasn't watching for it. "Speak Serrano."
"Sir? Yes, sir, they must realize the danger we're in, we remain in, despite this victory."
"A trooper prays his command puts aside their ego, ambitions, and politics but we're not that lucky. In this battle, if we're too successful, Shilling's fear that I'm taking over is confirmed. If we're weak, they won't respect us, and their apathy will cripple the Inevitable. Morale is low, and the ship is barely running, on an exhausted crew. You heard Windsor. If she were here, it would derail the meeting. Instead of her calculating mind, we're left with, uninformed voices."
"I thought her phrasing was odd," Iona notes. "It wasn't. She was warning you, us."
"ISB agents wield information and words instead of blasters but they're just as deadly."
"Her warning was a mild complaint to the casual observer," Serrano realizes.
"Sir, I understand why you brought a royal guard but why me?"
"Iona, you're the only one who opposed my decision to accept Moira's challenge."
"The stormtrooper officer opposed it too, sir."
"True, but out of impatience, not disapproval. You assessed it as risky and spoke up. To these officers, you're irrelevant. Watch them, they won't guard their expressions from you."
"I apologize, sir, but I don't understand why you brought me either," Serrano admits. "Specifically, after you said there is little need for bodyguards."
"Your presence conveys authority, through your ties to the emperor. These officers may have zero respect for stormtroopers but they'll respect you, and me by your proximity."
"That's illogical," Serrano asserts. "Our ship is crippled and we're barely holding on."
"I know. The Empire instilled respect for authority and tradition over functionality."
"So, Serrano is here to add weight to your arguments," Iona summarizes. "I'm here to watch how they react so we can assess later?"
"Partially, you're both here to learn how to manage people. This won't be the last time dealing with high commands, entrenched bureaucracies, or rigid personnel. Making someone face the truth doesn't always convince them of it, and being right is no comfort in defeat."
Serrano remains silent, unreadable behind his helmet but Iona shakes her head, "You have a lot of people around you, sir. Agent Windsor is loyal too."
"In most circumstances, Agent Windsor would be a part of this bureaucracy."
Iona swiftly looks from the royal guard to the commander, "What of Gary? His powers?"
Both look at her sharply, before the commander whispers, "We mustn't speak about them, publically. Yes, they saved us but many would kill him if they knew."
She looks at Serrano and he agrees, "I have personally accompanied inquisitors and Lord Vader on missions to quell sorcerers and Jedi. Too many have suffered at their hands. Even after all these years, the Jedi's betrayal at the end of the Clone Wars burns brightly."
"It's a moot point," the commander decides. "Gary only wants to return to his family."
"…and the Draugr?" Iona persists, drawing their gazes again. "Sir, you said we need critical analysis. Y-you, pointed out the risks to Gary but…he's not normal!"
"I could sense his rage on the Inevitable," Serrano adds then stiffens.
Both stare at him, Iona's mouth a gape before the commander speaks. "So it's true. You have powers too. There were always rumors but we only dared to whisper them."
"I shouldn't have mentioned it," Serrano murmurs, adding. "This is why I don't talk."
"The wall," Iona blurts out. "When he tore himself from the wall. Even I could feel it!"
"The Draugr…well, he's a mess. I think he'll leave with Moira. Plus, he's terrifying and if some troopers try to murder him, they won't live to regret it. I hate admitting it but it may benefit us if they try. Even now, too many cling to a delusion of Imperial infallibility."
"Sir!" Iona groans.
"It's true, Iona. Gary is, familiar. His armor, his affability, and his service give an illusion of a knowable quantity. This victory won't change that we're defeated and that amplifies biases. Morale is low and people want someone to blame. You are the best I have; Swanson is no leader. We lost Gale on Endor. Simz and Diggs deserted. We need to rebuild and it starts with you two."
"Yes, sir," Serrano pledges immediately.
"I-I don't know if I'm what you're looking for but I'll do my best," Iona stutters at first, then a slight smile curls at the edge of her lips. "You forgot about your pirate queen."
The turbolift slows to a stop and the doors whoosh open.
"Very funny," the commander grunts. Iona and Serrano turn right, but the commander turns left towards the bridge. "She's gone once we give her the shuttle."
"Sir, the officer's meeting room is this way," Iona points towards the aft.
"I want to check the parameter flight, and make sure Moira isn't causing trouble."
"You lost a fight with her? A fistfight?" Serrano asks quietly.
"Blades," the commander answers as they pass through the blast door to the bridge.
"Officer on deck!" One of the techs announces. All of the imperials jump to their feet.
"Carry on," the commander replies before inquiring. "Report."
The tech he left in command stands on the bridge overlooking the crew pits. She salutes sharply, "Sir, the bow is stable, we're open up to the breaches. The hyperdrive remains unreliable. The security parameter around us is secure if flimsy. The docking bay reports the pirate treasury is in the armory and it's guarded by wounded troopers."
"Sir! A fighter detects something at the edge of scanner range."
"Investigate immediately!" The tech orders.
"Report what they see once they're in visual range," the commander orders.
A technician hits several buttons and the audio is pumped through the bridge speakers.
"They're still at the edge of visual range but I think it's a couple of transports," Moira reports. "They're nothing but specks but…I think there are four or five huddled together."
"Don't engage," the TIE pilot orders. "I'm en route now."
"They jumped to hyperspace," Moira growls. "We're too late."
"Yes, we are," the commander motions to cut the feed. "Tell engineering to refocus on the hyperdrive. Pass it on to the battlecruiser too. Tell the officers, to offer the pirates their weapons and armor if they help us restart the ship. Our only hope is leaving immediately."
Agent Windsor
The smell of antiseptic and screams of agony greet her like an old colleague. Agent Windsor's analytic mind makes short work of a problem that existed since the beginning of time. After a battle, there are always too many wounded and too few healers.
A doctor points at Wa Kee, "What is that thing doing in my medical bay?"
"My name is Wa Kee, I'm a doctor-"
"I'm not speaking to you!" She snaps, glaring at Windsor. "What is it doing here?"
An uncomfortable silence grows. Suppressing irritation at her tone, Windsor quickly realizes, this woman thinks she's in charge. The imperial agent calmly folds her hands behind her back, staring directly into the doctor's eyes. She isn't weak. She meets the agent's glare with her own, fortified by her position as the chief medical officer. Unwavering, Windsor pours her frustration and ire into her gaze. Decades of experience as an infiltrator, spy, and torturer provides an edge the doctor cannot match. The medical officer blinks.
"You're willing to risk Imperial lives out of prejudice?"
"I won't have my medical center staffed by an unqualified practitioner," she recovers slowly. Then she hardens her tone, motioning at the floating orb-shaped robots. "It's bad enough I have to accept these interrogators as nurses. I won't have some alien working on my patients!"
The discomfort and disquiet expand as the gaze of nurses, droids, and patients shift from the doctor to Agent Windsor. Wa Kee cringes, shifting to hide behind her. She realizes the doctor has the advantage, after all, this is her domain. Many of the patients automatically side with her.
"You'd rather they die?" Windsor asks curtly, then adds, "Doctor."
"This is my medical bay. Either it leaves or I do!"
Agent Windsor blinks, slowly as the whole room hangs on her reply. Then she declares, "I appreciate your confession. Dereliction of duty and negligence are serious crimes..."
Tension and fear explode. The crowd's mood wanes; the medical office looks for support and finds little. Spitefully, she hisses, "This isn't over! The admiral will hear about this!"
"Yes," Agent Windsor guarantees. "Yes, he will."
The medical bay swiftly returns to normal and Windsor leads Wa Kee to a wounded trooper. The blue-furred alien quickly whispers, "Thank you, thank you, I won't let you down."
"No you won't," Windsor replies, pointing at an interrogation droid she recognizes from Endor. "To make certain, my comrade will assist you, and observe your work."
The large droid hums as it floats closer, looming over Wa Kee ominously. The alien shrinks away from it. Terrified, the tiny creature swiftly begins examining the patient.
Captain Keel
"-he doesn't understand how the Inevitable functions. He's only a stormtrooper-"
Keel tones out the blathering officer; he isn't alone. With a glance, he knows few of the officers are listening. Flat-eyed and disinterested, Captain Wyndt and Lieutenant Verdan stare blankly into space. The rest of the officers either half-listen or stare at the datapads beneath the table. A wave of weariness washes over Keel. He shakes it off, barely keeping his eyes open.
Whoosh! The doors slide open ending the prattling officer's speech and startling all within. While much of the Inevitable is dimmed to conserve power, the officer's meeting room is brightly lit. Standing at the threshold of the dim hallway, the meeting room's lights create a halo around the trio.
Always at the front, the Grand Commander's damaged armor details his service. The scorch mark on his pauldron mutes the multitude of dings, gashes, and blood stains. An unmistakable disquiet grows among the clean and sharply dressed officers. The commander's hand rests on the grimy rotary blaster, carrying a hint of a threat wordlessly.
Please please please, don't make me regret supporting you, Keel thinks.
Serrano glows. In the bright lights and shades of imperial black, grey, and white his royal guard armor shines magnificently. Even outranking him, Keel still feels awe in his presence.
Then the tiny woman, his eyes quickly pass over her, then snap back. Why is she here? The commander always has a plan. No agent Windsor, instead the Commander arrives with her. Where do I remember her from? He knows it's important. She matches the commander's fierceness, startling in her tiny form, as she watches with alert brown eyes. They turn to meet his gaze and Keel feels the urge to flinch. Unyielding, she meets his look with an unblinking stare.
Endor, she's another survivor. Why would he bring her?
"Permission to enter?" The courtesy surprises the officers.
"Granted," Admiral Antonious replies once he recovers. The admiral rests in a hover chair with a 21-B medical droid standing quietly behind him. The robot watches his vitals closely. In his weakened state, pale and unable to walk, the admiral struggles to retain the bearing of an imperial officer. "I understand I have you to thank for saving my ship."
"We're in this together, sir. No thanks are necessary, I'm glad to see you're awake."
"Where is agent Windsor?" Captain Shilling demands. "She has a lot to answer for!"
"Medical," the commander replies calmly. "There's a lot of critically wounded."
Several officers immediately turn to Captain Shilling, looking for guidance. Keel smirks, he can't remember the last time Shilling was left speechless. Admiral Antonius' eyes narrow, sweeping through his officers before turning to Shilling. The captain lowers his eyes, sulking.
The Grand Commander enters swiftly yet no one stands. As the highest-ranking officer, besides the admiral, he should have been offered a seat near Antonius. But no one moves.
"Commander," Keel stands quickly, and motions to his chair.
As he passes, the commander places a hand on Keel's shoulder. "Thank you, captain. I'll stand. We have a lot to do and I don't have time to sit."
"What does that mean?" Captain Shilling demands; Antonius' brow lowers irritably.
"Our parameter detected four or five transports at the edge of scanner range."
"Wait," Captain Wyndt's tone darkens as he glares. "You ordered my pilots to make a parameter without consulting me?"
"Obviously," the commander replies sharply, rebuking the captain.
"We have a fuel shortage-" Shilling argues.
"Fortunately, we captured several fighters and a battlecruiser," the commander cuts him off. " We have to assume the worst. If we're lucky, they were merchants caught in the same trap. They've already jumped so we can't identify their ships or their allegiance."
Blast! Keel's mood sinks, even one rebel sympathizer and we're dead!
"Why wasn't I informed of these transports?" Admiral Antonius asks.
"Per Captain Shillings orders, the meeting isn't to be interrupted." The commander replies before returning to the subject at hand. "We need to run."
"Where? Who can we trust?" The officer directly next to Antonius demands. An aging woman, more handsome than attractive, slaps her hand on the table. "This was no accident!"
"Can we request aid from Warlord Zsinj?" Another officer inquires.
"How do we know he wasn't involved in this ambush?" The first woman demands.
"I have my issues with Zsinj," the commander interrupts. "Even he wouldn't work with Thalassians. Only someone utterly immoral, someone despicable would align with them."
"Agreed," the admiral nods, clicking a few buttons. His lips twist sourly. "We need somewhere to repair the ship and enough leverage to negotiate our place in Zsinj's…empire."
The holographic projector in the center of the table blinks, as the room lights dim. The space above the table fills with a holographic, blue-tinged map of the region. The commander examines it, recognizing the Gordian Reach next to Junction, and the Hydian way.
"How can we repair it if we can barely keep it fueled?" The handsome woman presses. "We're on half rations, low power, and lack the resources to repair. Even if we didn't, we lack the technicians to repair it complexly in a reasonable time. We need to land."
"Land!" Shilling snarls. "Are you mad? We'll be helpless!"
Keel watches the commander focus on the map, ignoring the growing argument. Then his gaze drifts to the center, and Keel follows it to Yavin. Of course, the beginning of the end. Curse those rebels, curse the fools that left that exhaust shaft in the first Deathstar!
The commander whispers, "You're the Empire now…"
"What was that?" The admiral straightens. "What did you say, commander?"
The rest of the officers within the room turn their attention back to the commander.
"I know where we can land but you're not going to like it."