Chapter 14

Gary

CQB-6 chatters casually at the young Twi'lek. She mimes her replies with a curt shake or nod. The child sits on the opposite side of the mess table from them, back to the wall, on the edge of her chair. Her eyes never stop moving. Sometimes, she pokes around the edge of her tray of rations. She tastes it, once, with fleeting looks as if she expects it to be scolded or lose it.

Gary considers it a victory, no matter how seemingly insignificant. The hell the Thalassians put her through won't disappear overnight. He knows it begins with small victories and lets the droid take the lead. Gary recognizes a few words but Twi'lek isn't a language he speaks. He watches quietly, observing her timid replies and hurried looks.

My daughter is her age, he realizes without warning. Could they become friends one day?

Conversation in the mess hall is muted. A ship the size of the Inevitable provides services at all hours. Even with a diminished crew, many tables are occupied. A few sob, struggling to hold in their feelings. Many enlisted eat in silence and the remainder stare distantly.

Gary recalls the last time he saw his daughter, in her favorite pink dress. Her hair was parted into two tails. She was little more than a child then but now she's a teenager. How many years has it been? Three? Four? On Endor, he was only allowed a heavily censored message once or twice a year. Now, he doesn't dare send one.

Is she awkward like him? Timid like the Twi'lek or outspoken like her mother, like her younger self? Does she have a career she dreams of or change her mind constantly?

How will she see my service in the Empire? How will my wife and the rest of my family?

"What is this?" A stormtrooper demands. "Why are we wasting rations on an alien?"

His armor is damaged and his tone peaks as he points at the girl. His tray shakes; he barely keeps it level. Rage taints every word before he takes a threatening step forward. Instantly, the Twi'lek darts off the cafeteria bench and cowers beneath the table. Gary stands and intercepts the trooper. CQB-6 also rises, "Oh my! Please, don't act rashly!"

"Stand down, trooper!" Gary orders. Torn from thoughts of his daughter and wife, his anger rises to meet the stormtrooper's. "She's just a kid-"

"First we took you survivors, now we're taking aliens! This is worse than surrendering!"

"That's not our decision," Gary reminds him sternly. "Stand down. Now."

"We're starving and working double shifts only to have it wasted on her!" The stormtrooper appeals to the cafeteria. "We should have left them to die!"

CQB-6 suggests, "Perhaps it would be wise to withdraw."

Gary ignores the droid and checks the Twi'lek. She's wide-eyed, pale blue, and terrified. Already irate from the insults, Gary's anger burns hotter. His frustration, exhaustion, and fears feed the flames. Heart thundering, try as he might, Gary cannot restrain his anger.

"The Grand Commander just saved your lives," Gary roars. "…and this ship!"

"Screw the Grand Commander-"

"At attention when you speak to me, trooper!" Gary startles the soldier. "You're speaking to a sergeant! Have you lost your mind? That's a superior officer you're insulting!"

Everyone stops, their grief temporarily suspended. The rogue trooper flinches, stunned by the use of a drill sergeant's words and sharp tone. Years of discipline struggle with his despair.

"Yeah?" He grumbles and Gary knows he's made his decision. "Yeah? We'll see!"

Maybe it's adrenaline or fighting beside the Grand Commander that his attack seems so sluggish. Could it be my powers…or my anger? The trooper raises his tray, flinging food, before Gary steps in and blocks it. A quick thrust and he jabs the trooper's unprotected throat. Gasping, the trooper drops. Gary wants to stop; he should stop but anger rides him. He rips the tray from the trooper's hands and slams it into the trooper's face. WHACK! The stormtrooper buckles…

…but a dozen more charge! Additional personnel rise from their tables, yelling and screaming. "STOP! FIGHT!" The words are repeated, mingled, and mutilated by the crowd.

A thread of panic rises in Gary, he glances at CQB-6 and the Twi'lek, both staring back in horror. Summoning all of his feelings, he channels the Grand Commander, "ENOUGH!"

Gary barely recognizes his voice. Everyone within the mess recoils as if struck, pausing where they stand. With their full attention, Gary raises his voice, "We serve the Empire! Sometimes it sucks and yes, things are bad! We don't wear this armor, or choose this calling, for an easy life! Maybe you joined out of loyalty, or you needed a job, but you chose to serve!"

The trooper he struck groans; weakly, and tries to stand. Rage pounds inside Gary. I'm still holding the tray…Gary drops it with a clatter. He drives his anger down, crushing it with all his will before he recovers. What was that? Instead of lashing out, he helps the trooper stand. This fight, akin to the problems in the docking bay, echoes the issues plaguing their ship.

"Everything we're facing, that we will face, we will face together. We are all we have," Gary reminds them. "Never forget! Good soldiers, follow orders."

Agent Windsor

"Your opinion is noted, now step aside and let me save this patient!"

"You aren't saving him, you will kill him," Wa Kee insists, the blue-furred alien motions frantically. "This isn't an infection, it's an inflammation. His body is rejecting the treatment-"

"His lung is punctured by a dirty knife; hence, his shortness of breath!"

"…but not his chills, paleness-"

"A natural occurrence due to blood loss!"

"…his coughing is an abnormality." Wa Kee's small blue hands motion rapidly before he wipes his hand over the human's forehead. Then displays the moisture on his palm. In the background, the patient's pulse fades swiftly. "The machine is breathing for him, he shouldn't have a respiratory issue, unless it isn't from pressure on his lungs."

Her hands are shaking. Agent Windsor clenches them into fists and places them behind her back. The medical bay has returned to order; the vast majority of the injured have stabilized and moved to a different bay to recover. Only the most at risk or critically injured remain under constant supervision of nurses, 21-B medical, and the IT-0 interrogator droids. The robots wisely steer clear of the dispute between doctors, which has exploded into another argument. The exception is her personal IT-0, who hovers near Wa Kee, per her instructions.

How long ago was it that the Inevitable dropped out of hyperspace? The thought interrupts. Hours, she answers unintentionally. My exhaustion is eroding my discipline. Unbidden, she recalls flying over a hundred paces down a corridor. Inches in one direction or another would've decided if she became a smear or shattered. Instead, she plowed into a group of technicians and troopers. Sheepishly, they helped her back to her feet, as if it were their fault.

Now, despite widespread soreness, she's uninjured.

"We are going to lose him if you do not step aside!" The doctor declares.

Windsor centers herself before interrupting them by invading their personal space.

"You're going to kill him if you inject that!" They barely spare her a glance, until she draws her pistol. It's bulky and off-balance; instantly, they flinch and step back.

"I grow tired of your constant bickering," Windsor announces. "I will resolve this now. Which of you believes your diagnosis so much you'd wager your life?"

Faster than she can react, Wa Kee jabs the patient with a hypo-syringe. She doesn't know whether he's that confident or didn't listen before reacting. The patient's pulse levels…then flatlines, sounding an alarm. Windsor stares coldly at the dead patient. Wa Kee's hands work furiously at the console, upside down because he's standing on the table where the patient lays. Unlike a human, who would lean over the patient, he's too small for that.

The table beeps a warning and then shocks the patient. He jerks, sags, and then again.

"No no no no!" Wa Kee persists. He begins chest compressions and breathes into the patient's mouth after creating a seal with his hands. The imperial doctor steps back with a meaningful look at Agent Windsor. Wa Kee's hands become a blur over the console, as the table beeps warning again, before shocking the patient.

Beep. Beep. Beep, the patient takes a deep breath and stabilizes.

Windsor raises her blaster, pointing it at the imperial doctor's head. She screams, dropping to the floor and covering her face. The ISB agent squeezes the trigger, blasting the wall behind the doctor, and showering her with sparks. Wa Kee flies off the table, rolling behind its supports. Only after a moment of silence, he risks peeking out to look at her.

Windsor holsters her new blaster, still heavy in her hand. "Yes, we have endured a period of hardship. Regardless, I will not tolerate disorder in my presence or aboard this vessel. Let that damaged section of the wall be a reminder of the consequences."

"You-you!" The imperial doctor hisses from the floor before she stands and smoothes out her uniform. "I am Dr. Agatha Stillwater and I will not be treated like this!"

Windsor glares. Stillwater pales, turns, and storms out of the medical bay. Windsor meets the eyes of everyone left in the medical bay, robotic or biological, and they quickly look away. Nodding, she opens a pharmaceutical drawer. Windsor retrieves a stim and injects it, her vision blurring with a sudden headrush and racing heartbeat. Then she declares, "I have other duties. If I'm required, contact me on the comms. IT-0, with me."

The Grand Commander

"You're abandoning two decades of military doctrine!"

"Two decades of failed doctrine," the Grand Commander replies calmly.

…evolved from the Clone Wars!" The officer insists. "Our doctrine unified all corners of the known galaxy and created an imperial standard throughout the Empire."

"Written by people who never served on the front lines or in the trenches, based on indiscriminate target saturation, and built on the backs of former allies. Allies WE betrayed."

"Everyone wishes things were different but it is, what it is," the woman beside the admiral declares. "We're wasting time pointing fingers and arguing over the past."

"I don't believe the commander is blaming anyone," Admiral Antonius says wearily. The 21-B places a hand on his shoulder and leans in. The admiral holds up a hand to forestall it.

"My point is we need to retrain and refocus, not later, not an hour from now. We need to adjust immediately. Until we've determined what works best, we must focus on pragmatism."

"I'm certain all of us have ideas on how to rebuild," Captain Wyndt says skeptically. "Beyond rhetoric and history lessons, how can we improve our situation immediately?"

The commander pauses. A dozen ideas rise immediately but knows they'll be shot down. Efficient, successful, functional? Yes, but acceptable to command's sensibilities? No.

"How many of your people are on standby or idle? The Inevitable is crippled. The battlecruiser is secured but not ready to leave. I need every last imperial capable of working, armed and involved. Even if it replaces a technician who is standing guard, it's a net benefit."

"That'll be a mess!" The woman grumbles, looking to the other nodding officers.

"That's hundreds, no thousands of people!" Another officer complains. "Unless they're managed properly, and what about the following shift? They'll be half asleep!"

"If only we had a cadre of educated and well-trained leaders to organize them…"

Captain Keel laughs at the commander's words, then stifles it, pretending to cough. The woman beside the admiral smirks. While Captain Wyndt's eyes narrow many others stare in confusion, unwilling to accept his implication.

"Maybe I'm missing something," Captain Shilling complains. "But I don't understand."

"Captain Annex," the admiral looks at the stern woman at his side. "Please gather all available personnel, organize, and allocate them throughout the ship. Excuse me, ships."

"It'll need a name," the stern woman declares. "We can't keep calling it battlecruiser."

"Yes, you are right. Commander, you captured the vessel, what should we call it?"

"I've never been good at that, sir," the commander admits.

The admiral nods, "Then I'm open to suggestions, anyone?"

"Interrogator?" Someone suggests, and then a few more follow. The Grand Commander follows it passively, focused on his next move. "Arbiter. Harpoon. Collector. Undaunted."

"Wait," the admiral motions for everyone to stop. "What was that last one? Comm officer Iona, what are you doing here? Don't tell me you fought on the battlecruiser."

"Undaunted, sir," Iona replies. The commander looks at her, surprised that she spoke up. "…and yes, I fought on the battlecruiser."

"Well, well, while we remained safe on the Inevitable, you went to battle. You've done an excellent job in making the rest of us look bad," the admiral jokes. The commander senses a quiet intensity in the room growing, before refocusing on her. "The Undaunted. Annex, focus on the drive, reactivating the battlecruiser, or securing the prisoners. Captain Shilling will join you soon. I encourage you to work hard and fast, these next few hours are critical."

As everyone rises, the admiral adds, "Shilling, Wyndt, and Keel remain behind. You too commander; your team can stay as well."

Concerned looks pass among the officers, but then Captain Annex orders, "You heard the admiral! Double time! Move it!"

The overcrowded, rectangular room's single exit slows the officers' departure. Shuffling, side steps, and sour looks fly among them as they're herded out by Captain Annex. Still, they steer clear of the bloodied trio.

After they leave, the admiral points, "Captain Keel, close the door. You three, sit down."

Obediently, the captain jumps to his feet and hits the console button. The door whooshes closed and locks with a CLUNK. Captain Keel returns to his seat, his proper seat, next to Admiral Antonius. Then the admiral pauses as they take a seat, considering each of them.

"Are you going to overthrow me, commander?" He demands, stunning everyone. Within the chamber, his whisper carries the weight of decades of his service. "There won't be a better chance than now. The three of us are the only ones capable of opposing your coup. Three on three in close quarters, your specialty, the advantage is yours."

"Sir! No!" Shilling exclaims. "You can't, you're not in your right mind!"

"No, sir." the commander replies quietly. Even thinking about it makes him feel tired. Keel stares at Antonius in shock; Wyndt watches calmly but his right elbow is bent, hand on his pistol. Shilling pales and the commander wonders if he's unarmed. "Three on five. The droid won't fight but it'll do everything to help you. Captain Keel will stand with you too."

"Captain Keel is conflicted."

The commander doesn't miss a beat, "No, he's not."

Captain Keel never looks away from the admiral, "I may be now."

"If anyone is conflicted," the Grand Commander glances at the royal guardsman. "It would be the master sergeant."

Serrano remains deathly still as they focus on him, "I'm not conflicted, sir."

"I find that answer frighteningly vague," the admiral grumbles.

"Sir…damnit! I don't want your job or Captain Shillings." The commander motions at his gear and then to his two comrades. "This is for show, a deterrent for any ambitious officer considering assassinating me. You know the risks they'll take if they think they'll be rewarded."

"I know you disagreed with my decision to fold the elite units into the stormtrooper corps. My troops have garrisoned too long; we needed their experience to fortify the rest."

"It doesn't matter what I think, sir. It cannot be changed and there's no use arguing over it. We must focus on forward movement: repair, recruit, retrain, reequip."

"What's your plan?" Wyndt interrupts, motioning for calm. "I want to hear it. If you feel no compunction commandeering my pilots, what guarantees do we have you won't do it again?"

"None. If necessary, I will do it again," the Grand Commander assures him. "I guarantee that I will do whatever is needed, accept every sacrifice, and endure any suffering to serve the Empire. If that means commandeering troops, pilots, or you personally. I will. Every. Time."

"You-you can't just come in here and take over," Shilling whines with a look at Wyndt.

"Yes, I will," the commander responds sharply, but then he compromises. "The admiral will hold the final veto and I'll abide by it…even if it's against what I believe is for the best."

"Then I'm not comfortable with you retraining our forces," Wyndt persists.

"I'm uncomfortable with you having even more influence over the troops," Shilling adds. "How do we know you won't replace loyal officers with you own, or turn them against us? You'll have complete control under the guise of training."

The commander glances at the admiral, who nods in agreement with them. The commander weighs them, realizing they won't yield, and considers his options before flanking.

"I prefer overarching control, but day-to-day will be handled by the best soldier I know."

The commander turns to Serrano, who becomes the center of the room's attention.

"What are your thoughts, master sergeant?" Then the admiral notes his hesitation. "Is there something wrong? I can't imagine this will be a challenge for a royal guardsman."

"No, sir. I…I can't remember the last time someone asked my opinion."