Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars nor am I associated with those that do. This is a non-profit fan work written for the purpose of entertainment.
The Imperial: Arrowhead Command
Chapter 6 - Galantos I
This is a mutiny.
I was certain of this fact, as certain as I was the sun would rise in the morning and set again at night. Instead of calming me, this certainty only made my panic deepen - though I fought to keep it down and out of my face.
Seated across from me were Matread, Screold, and the Conqueror's chief medical officer - all with expressions of grim determination. If they saw my worry, they did not show it. I ran through the last few days in my head, trying to find any sign of them planning this - any indication that they had decided to turn on me. I found nothing, at least nothing I could recognize, and my worry only deepened.
"Several officers have brought forward concerns about your actions over the past few days, Captain," The medical officer began, her tone as grim as her expression and doing little to allay my fears. I shifted slightly to let loose some nervous energy, the groan of my leather holster reminding me of the weight at my hip. A service pistol, one that had never been fired in anger. While I was far from the most skilled gunslinger aboard the Conqueror, I was confident I could outdraw Matread or Doctor Anes in a pinch. Screold was another matter entirely.
After a heartbeat passed, I realized how morbid that line of thinking was. What's more, there wasn't a chance of me getting out of this room with my life - if other members of their little conspiracy realized I had gotten the better of their chosen representatives. With little else I could do, I remained silent and listened.
"The fault lies with me, I have not been keeping track of the crews' health as well as I should have. That being said, several concerning events have been brought to my attention that have led me to believe that you are intentionally putting your health at risk."
My train of thought froze as I stared bemusedly at the stern woman, my idle drumming on the table falling still. Spurred on by my lack of reaction, Anes continued.
"I could go over the mountain of reports made by members of the bridge crew, but I think that would be reiterating a point your command staff have already made to you, Captain. Your sleep schedule has been erratic and brief, you have refused to surrender command on several occasions, and your consumption of caffeine and stimulants has been reported as abnormal."
My idle tapping returned to its previous tempo, the sudden sound causing the barest flinch in Screold. I couldn't blame her, this situation felt oddly tense.
Damn, I thought, I could go for some more recaf.
"Is this a request for a check-up, Doctor?" I asked, my tone probing as I tried to gauge what this was about. These 'concerns' from my crew, while well-meaning, were entirely unnecessary. I could rest and recuperate once we were back in friendly port - as any good Captain would!
"It's a request for you to take it easy, Captain," Anes said. Her stern expression was unflinching, though her eyes did dart down to my hand for a second before raising to my face once more.
"Noted," I lied, for that was all I had to say on that matter. I started to stand, "Screold, have Colonel Maab report here. I need to speak with him about his report-"
"Captain," Anes spoke up, cutting me off mid-sentence, "This request is made by the entire command staff."
That got my attention. It was one thing for the medical officer to give me orders but for my entire staff? I needed to tread carefully here, a single misstep could see my traipsing into a minefield. I retook my seat, turning my gaze from Anes to Screold and Matread. Their presence here suddenly made much more sense, they were the muscle to Anes's unreasonable demands - representing the interests of my staff. When I didn't immediately respond, Anes continued once more.
"Your consumption of caffeine has been noted as abnormal, which for a combat bridge crew is a concerning feat. Pair this with the amount of combat stimulants you have consumed since Endor and your sleep schedule, and it is a wonder that you haven't had a heart attack yet."
I sniffed, more than a little embarrassed at that announcement - it wasn't as if I were unaware of that possibility, but I knew my limits!
"Colonel Yularen stayed awake for a month during the Ringo Vinda campaign, subsisting on combat stims." I countered, sounding petulant even to my ears.
"Colonel Yularen also died."
"Not to the stimulants," I again replied petulantly, the drumming on the conference table growing a bit quicker with my agitation.
"Captain, I am running out of ways to say this. You are, for all intents and purposes, the acting flag officer of the fleet. If you were to become indisposed or, heavens forbid, die, then the fleet would be left largely leaderless. This request is made in the strongest possible terms from myself and your command staff."
Screold shifted, her discomfort becoming increasingly evident. Matread continued to stare ahead, unflinching as Anes laid out their demands. I licked my lips, attempting to fight the accursed dryness while formulating some response that did not see this discussion ending poorly for me. It was similar to what had happened before Bakura, now that I considered it. That felt like a lifetime ago, perhaps that was my subconscious reason for not wanting to leave the bridge. Perhaps I was expecting to wake up to yet another battle I would have little time to prepare for - tactically or mentally?
"Captain Tullius, we are unlikely to face any problems before we reach Galantos," Screold finally spoke up, her voice betraying little of the concerned writ upon her face, "But should we be engaged, would it not be better for you to be rested and cognizant?"
I bit the inside of my cheek and let the silence drag on for some minutes longer. At last, I let out a low sigh through my nose - far from the exhalation that I would have preferred to give.
"... Very well," I allow slowly, my tone grudging though I kept myself from saying it through clenched teeth. It wasn't as if I were in any position to refuse, in any case. I could only help I would still be in command in at least name by the time we arrived in the Core, "I shall… rest for these next few days."
Matread did not react outwardly to my surrender, though Screold's shoulders noticeably drooped with her relief. Anes merely nodded, looking down at the datapad in front of her.
"Thank you, Captain. I will message you about a check-up later today."
With that, the trio waited for me to dismiss them. A consolation, pretending that I was still in command. With a wave of my hand, the trio left for their duties.
I was left to figure out what I would do for the next few weeks.
Lieutenant Ashsca Screold
Captain Tullius swept from the bridge with all the dignity that could be expected, given the situation. A part of me was shamefaced, as I knew that anger was directed toward me and the rest of the command staff. That being said, I also knew that we were right. Tullius was pushing himself toward an early grave if he kept on as he was. The precedent set by Yularen or not, he had been sourcing and consuming combat stims at a rate far above the recommended dosages.
Still, loyalty warred within me, and I turned that conflict outward as I spoke to Wyatdrew. I took a moment to scan the area around us, making sure to lower my voice.
"Captain Tullius appears unhappy," I commented lightly once the elevator doors hissed shut. The Flight Chief turned to face me, his expression thunderous as he spoke.
"As well he should be, but this needed to be done. I shudder to think what would happen if he refused to rest. He may well have had a stroke on the bridge during a battle, and left Harand in charge."
I shuddered to think as well, though it was not as a detriment against Commander Harand or his leadership style. Harand was perfectly competent when commanding the fleet in Tullius's absence, but the man commanded neither the respect of the fleet nor the confidence of Tullius himself. They may well have been night and day: Tullius was bold and Harand was cautious. Harand could handle the day-to-day running of the ship and fleet, but as a fleet officer, he was simply incapable of fighting as an Arrowhead commander. Then again, my personal biases may be speaking: I did not like the man. He had all the charisma of a mortician and the complexion to match. He was wholly an unpleasant person to be around.
"Hopefully it won't come to that."
Wyatdrew nodded slowly before checking the time with a noisy cough.
"Well, I suppose we should return to the shifts?"
"Yes, yes. Off you go, old timer, get your rest." I scoff, turning away from him and moving toward the holotable at the center of the room.
"No respect for your elders," Wyatdrew huffed, though his tone was good-natured. He didn't stick around for long after, though, and soon I was left to command the bridge alone.
The rear command section was largely empty, barring a few remaining technicians running maintenance on consoles or the Navytroopers silently standing guard. This section, much like Tullius himself, had been running on limited sleep between the battles and constant fleeing. The majority had been handpicked by Tullius when he first arrived aboard the Conqueror, the remainder either coming with him from his previous command or being allowed to remain. Outside of combat, and when Tullius wasn't actively commanding the section, the command was moved back to the forward bridge - where I could oversee the crew while still giving orders.
Finding nothing of note here, I turned and walked through the open blast door to the main bridge. The dull hum of conversation was louder here, though not enough so to warrant any disciplinary action. Many of the crewmembers here were part of the third shift, with some second shifts represented as well. The first shift made up the majority of the combat bridge crew, and like the rear bridge crew, they had been sent to rest and recuperate. After two back-to-back battles, they needed the rest.
I strode up next to an officer who leaned over the command pit and gave orders to one of the technicians below. He turned at my approach and, upon realizing who I was saluted sharply.
"Lieutenant," He said, his tone gruff.
"Anything to report?" I asked, glancing down into the pit and watching the technician return to his station.
"Nothing. Our condition is green."
Or as green as we could be, in any case. Though that went without saying; the Conqueror had seen better days, and the constant battles were not helping. The hyperdrive and sunlight engines had been running hot nearly constantly. With the revelation of potential sabotage weighing heavily on everyone's mind, there was a pervasive worry about whether or when the engines would give out. It was with distaste that I shuddered thinking about Harand, but the shiver that rose through my spine now was one of fear. We were well into the Pacanth Reach, making small jumps from system to system. Out here, there would be little help if your hyperdrive were to quit on the minor, underexplored hyperlanes.
"Reverting to realspace in thirty minutes," The intercom came to life with the dull voice of our navigator, warning of our imminent arrival at the latest planet in our trek. Panatha, a minor world in a minor sector.
"I will be retaking the conn," I say to the officer.
"Lieutenant Screold has the conn," The officer announced, louder this time to the bridge. He nodded to me before retreating to his station and leaving the bridge in my hands. I began my slow trek up to the front of the bridge, watching for any problems in the command pits flanking me as I went.
When I reached the transparisteel viewscreens, my eyes were briefly dragged to the swirling tunnel of hyperspace that surrounded us. It was a miasma of blues and bright whites, as mesmerizing as it was painful to look at. The whisper of old spacer tales was dredged up from the back of my mind, of captains driven mad from looking beyond this pocket of realspace for too long. The wrongness of it clawed at my mind, and soon I was forced to avert my eyes. The pressure on my mind vanished as I instead observed the armored bulk of the Conqueror. It was a sight I was already familiarizing myself with, though the damage stung my pride.
A blackened scorch slashed its way from the bow to about midship, a vicious scar courtesy of a Ssi-Ruuk volley. The damage was largely superficial, but it was a sign that the deflector shields had been overwhelmed. The Ssi-Ruuk overreliance on ion cannons had proven useful, even if their turbolasers couldn't crack the Conqueror's hull. My eyes drifted from that damage to the port side - again, close to the bow. The "point" of the Star Destroyer had been bent inward, courtesy of my ramming maneuver in the opening of our charge. The sight of the enemy cruiser crumpling against the mass of my ship was glorious indeed, the scar of that damage evident in how the armor-plating bent. It would be repaired, like the rest of the damage, but it fulfilled an old dream every commander of a Star Destroyer had - to ram something.
My mirth faded as I walked counter-clockwise along the bridge, as my eyes were inevitably drawn to the portside pair of heavy ion cannons. The rest were hidden, either along the broadsides or closer to the bow, but those two were a reminder of how crippled we were. The barrels of their neighboring turbolasers were black, pointed forward, and ready to be used again. On the other hand, the ion cannons had been forced to face stern and locked in place so as not to get in the way of the turbolasers. My announcement was great in that regard, but Tullius had taken the sabotage in stride so I would as well.
The next half hour passed slowly, but eventually, we reached the edge of the Panatha System.
"Sensors, run and scan the system. Navigation, chart us a course to the egress point at the best possible speed." I ordered as I walked around one command pit and toward the navigation officer. Based on the most recent intel as of two years ago, Panatha had only a minor spaceport owned and run by one Mining Guild subsidiary or another. The system was minor enough to not be worth caring about by the Guild itself, with barely a few lines about what the world had for its export market.
I glanced toward the open blast door as I passed, my eyes finding the holotable at the center of the room. It had flickered back to life now that we were out of hyperspace, showcasing the fleet as they re-entered realspace. The ships were in a tightly packed line, meant to minimize the amount we could drift in the thin hyperlane. At the rear, the bulbous Ssi-Ruuk ship trundled after the rest of the fleet, its strange bulk alien amidst the angular Imperial ships.
My arrival at the navigation console coincided with the map of the system being uploaded to the screen. One mid-sized star, alongside four planets of variable size - the second being inhabited.
"Keep the section in formation," I ordered, "No point in trying to-"
"Sensor contacts! Two cruisers plus three unidentified vessels, all in orbit of Panatha-2!" The words were shouted from the console array on the opposite side of the bridge, so I hurried over without running.
True to the officer's words, two enemy ships vaguely recognizable as rebel cruisers were identified as orbiting the mining world. Several strange blobs followed in their wake, the sensor array not yet able to make out their exact shapes or sizes.
More rebels, I thought bitterly, What hole do they keep crawling out of?!
"It is likely they are here for whatever resources the local mining guilds have," I turned my head to shout across the bridge, "Navigation, avoid the second planet, keep us at a safe distance from the rebels."
I turned my eyes back to the sensor readouts. A part of me recoiled at the thought of leaving these rebels alone, but we had wasted enough time on frivolous distractions. There was no telling if more rebel ships were prowling around. The rebel vessels did not attempt to engage or shadow us beyond keeping their cruisers in front of their wards - now identified as freighters of some sort. How typical of the rebels, to ransack a region before they planned to leave it.
A tense few hours crawled by as the 2nd Flank skirted the orbit of the third planet while the rebels continued their efforts at the second. Our mishappen convoy was forced to break formation, allowing the heavier Star Destroyers to take the left flank and protect the rest of the ships with their mass. It was as we crossed the orbit of the fourth planet and were about to dash the egress point that the situation became more difficult.
"Lieutenant Screold, we have an incoming communication request from the second planet."
There it is. There was a concerning pattern to these things, a pattern that had not existed for the entirety of my service aboard the Conqueror. I turned away from the navigation station to approach the communications officer. It would be the smart decision to ignore the request and leave while we still could, it would be the logically sound decision. It would be the decision that Wyatdrew or Harand would make in my place.
"Open comms," I ordered, taking an offered headset and taking the small communicator from the officer. The officer fiddled with the console for a moment before nodding at me. A heartbeat longer, and a heavily distorted voice ground through.
"Imperial Star Destroyer, this is Mining Guild Overseer Lorth Magnigold of Panatha. We request immediate assistance!"
I bit the inside of my cheek and adjusted the headset. Despite expecting this outcome, my immediate reaction was to accept his request and bing the Conqueror about. Yet Bakura still held heavily in my mind, my pressure to support it placing Captain Tullius in an unenviable position. Haste had been my undoing once, I would not allow it such easy purchase if I could not help it.
"Panatha, this is the Conqueror. We are unfortunately unable to render assistance at this time, we advise that you cooperate with rebel forces in system to minimize the loss of life and damage to Imperial assets on the world."
I went to remove the headset, not eager to hear any other pleading lest it sway me further but Magnigold was faster still.
"Wait! I can pay you - everything at my compound is going to be seized anyway! Better to go into Imperial coffers than theirs, just don't let them capture me."
I pause halfway in reaching for my headset, freezing for a moment of indecision. A part of my mind urged me to take the headset off and ignore the plea, while another more idealistic portion recoiled at the thought of abandoning Imperials to their fates. Pragmatism came along to assist my bleeding heart - I played a hand in spending the section's credit reserve at Vasha, even if Tullius appeared completely behind the idea. While it was unlikely that this backwater had anything exceptionally valuable, we could loot it for what it was worth while grabbing Imperial citizens.
Only if the rebels flee, I decide, straightening again, We will not galavant into another engagement.
"... Understood, Panatha. Await further directions. Conqueror out." I pulled the headset off without waiting for a response, passing it and the communicator over to the technician before facing the bridge at large.
"Helm, bring us to half astern, port thirty."
"Half reverse, port thirty - aye sir." The helmsman barked out in response. On the bridge, we couldn't hear the engines fall silent before roaring again, rapidly cutting the Conqueror's speed. Ahead, the engine plum of the Intimidation rapidly grew smaller as the other Star Destroyer continued to burn onward. I raised a communicator to my lips, mine this time, and addressed the smaller group commanders.
"Officers, match our speed and heading. We make for the second planet in the system."
"Captain Tullius was clear we were to avoid any distractions, Lieutenant." Milgern's uncompromising tone returned, his displeasure clear. Still, I could see Intimidation's engines grow larger ahead as she cut her speed.
"Captain Tullius would also not abandon loyal Imperials, not when there was something to gain as well. We'll rout these rebels without firing a shot."
Of course, I had no way of knowing this. If the rebels decided to hold their ground and call our bluff, I would write it off as a lost cause and leave.
"Helm, full ahead."
Again, my order was repeated - and despite physical or visual feedback, I looked out at the stars that filled the Conqueror's viewscreen.
The ships of the 2nd Flank Squadron lurched ahead, though we were forced to slow time and again as the Lancers and Ssi-Ruuk cruiser were left behind. Even the Bakurans could match the blistering pace, but the weakness of the old system defense frigates was made clear. By the time that we were close enough that I could make out Panatha-2 through the transparitsteel windows, the rebels had cut their losses and left. We were tracking them as they shadowed us in the third planet's orbit - a swapping of positions, for all intents and purposes.
Panatha was largely a jungle world, though signs of large-scale logging were clear on our long-range scopes. Cities had also started to form, mostly around planetside space ports, but the source of the plea for help did not come from the planet itself. In its upper orbit, a space station bearing the emblem of the Mining Guild was guarded by a pair of in-system patrol skiffs - with fewer than a couple of laser cannons between them. Still, that they were active showed the threat from the rebels might have been a little exaggerated.
"Mining Guild station, this is the Conqueror," I announced to the station, watching it disappear from sight as our helm brought the ship about, "The rebels are still in the system. We are here to evacuate you, do you have wounded?"
"No, uh…" A new voice greeted me, younger and less assured, "The Alliance… Er, that is, the rebels, didn't board the station. They were trying to convince the Overseer to turn over the stores to them."
I quirked an eyebrow before continuing.
"Your Overseer's words spoke of urgency."
"He's not popular on Panatha," The technician's voice took on a conspiratorial tone, "Elbowed in on a lot of local guilds and threw around the MG's weight… Err, ma'am."
"I see," I was disinterested in the specifics of local politics, pushing the conversation toward more important avenues, "Am I to assume he is preparing to transfer his staff over to us?"
"... Um… Yes?"
"Was that a question?"
"Yes! I mean, no, it wasn't a question. Um… The Overseer is ready to begin transporting our storage to you now."
I deactivated my communicator and turned to the communications officer
"Send the Mining Guild workers to the alien cruiser with the rest of the refugees, and move the resources to the storage bays on the Conqueror."
"Very good, sir."
Hours stretched as my orders were followed, though the Overseer made things difficult. Ostensibly, he had made himself dictator of this minor world through the authority of the Mining Guild. Unfortunately, that gave him an inflated ego and the belief that he was far more important and notorious than he was. His fear was well-founded, the local Epicanthix likely had no love for him or the Empire by association, but his arrogance made him a troublesome figure on the converted refugee carrier. Demands for this or that went unanswered, but it made him unpopular among the Imperial Bakurans.
"Good thing Nereus is aboard the Conqueror," I muttered, far from as grateful as my words might have appeared, "Lest the cruiser implodes from the density of ego."
We fled from the system with the same haste as I was attempting initially, the rebels following us at a safe distance out of the system. They were not eager for a fight, though the Conqueror had to stand guard to keep them that way.
Yet, despite being sidetracked and the snide remarks I was receiving from Milgern, I felt good about this. Rescuing Imperial citizens without firing a shot. A smile played on my lips as the Conqueror jumped to lightspeed.
Commander Ciena Ree
"Commander Ciena Ree, report to meeting room AU-11. Ciena Ree, meeting room AU-11." The droll voice of a bridge officer filled the mess hall, giving me pause. The half-eaten bowl of mush in front of me - distinctly unappetizing at the best of times - lay forgotten as I wondered why I was being called away.
My gaze moved to my companions, fewer now in number than when I had first joined. Marie had lost the forced positivity she'd showcased in our first meeting or even during the early stages of Bakura - her hair was unkempt and her face grim. Her eyes were distant and unfocused as she pushed around the mush in her bowl. The already scarred Crimson Squadron had been gutted nearly to a man. I might have claimed it was my skill alone that kept me and Marie alive during the follow-up battle, but that was too arrogant of an observation. We were lucky, the rest weren't. Only three of the pre-battle members remained: myself, Marie, and Commander Hamne. While Marie and I had gotten out unscathed, Hamne was not so lucky. His fighter had been damaged during the battle and, when retreating to the Conqueror, was hit by a Flutie fighter. He crashed in the hangar, which had thankfully been mostly empty. What was unfortunate were the ground support missiles that had been left in the hangar bay, stripped from the TIE Fighters Tullius had sourced from the Bakurans. He had burns covering seventy percent of his body. While bacta would probably have him back up and running, he was out of the fight for the time being.
Our newest member was added after the battle, bringing our total back to flight size. A squadron made up of a single flight and one-and-a-half elements. A sorry state of affairs, though there was nothing we could do about it.
He was the co-pilot for Tullius's shuttle, with little combat experience outside of simulators. He was generally easy-going, though the oppressive mood affected even him. He remained silent out of respect for Marie, who had gone from furious and devastated to just emotionally deadened. She had raged in the squadron dorms, blaming the damn Bakurans, and the damn Rebels, and that damned Rivejer Tullius and his damn bleeding heart. It was fortunate that we were alone.
"I better go see what this about," I said unnecessarily, rising from my seat and leaving the food forgotten. Marie glanced up for a second before returning her gaze down, though Crimson-4 met my eyes. I jerked my head toward Marie, a silent plea for him to keep an eye on her while I was gone. He nodded in understanding, so I hoped he heard the message.
A mouse droid was waiting for me at the door to the mess hall, and this time I allowed it to guide me. Dressed in my uniform and with my rank plaque displayed proudly, troopers and crewmembers were quick to scurry out of my way. Most saluted as I passed, recognizing the rank even if they didn't know me. There were only so many ranking officers in the pilot corps aboard the Conqueror, and those crewmembers who spent most of their time in this part of the ship knew their faces.
The designated meeting room appeared around a corner, and I faltered in my steps for a moment. A pair of Stormtroopers awaited me, flanking the door. Two helmets turned ever so slightly to glance at me before turning back forward, carbines holstered at their hips. The momentary trepidation passed and I continued right up to the door. One of the troopers wordlessly opened it and let me inside.
It was a standard conference room, its center dominated by a circular table with chairs evenly spaced around it. Opposite the door was a face I had grown passingly familiar with in my time aboard the Conqueror. Wyatdrew Matread, overall commander of all fighter craft in the section. They called him "Chief", though his rank plaque denoted him as a Commander. Two red and two blue blocks, a Junior Commander, though his authority said otherwise. Then again, the Imperial navy typically played it fast-and-loose with ranks and their authority, with Tullius being no different. The firebrand Screold was one such example.
Matread stood as I entered, and we saluted each other. There was an argument to be made that I outranked Matread, being a Flight Commander, but at that moment I would not split hairs. Matread carried far more authority and was a respectable enough officer.
"Thank you, Commander," The man said gruffly, indicating to the seat on the opposite side of the table, "Please take a seat."
So I did, the blast door behind me sealing with a low hiss.
"With Commander Hamne incapacitated, you are the ranking officer of Crimson Squadron. I am naming you Flight Commander until he is out of bacta." Matread was a man of few niceties, jumping right to his point and blindsiding me. It took me a moment to formulate a response before I spoke carefully.
"I was under the opinion that my placement on Crimson was temporary."
"It is," Matread agreed with a slight shrug, "And now you are temporarily its commanding officer. Congratulations."
This was unforeseen and completely outside the norms of the Imperial hierarchy. Even if I were the ranking officer by seniority, the Star Destroyer staff would always give its members preferential treatment. I was an outsider, one pressed into service under extenuating circumstances. It was not that I felt I didn't deserve that position, it was the question of whether my authority would be respected - in the squadron and outside. Matread, of all people, would know this. He seemed to notice my internal conflict as he continued forward with that uncompromising tone.
"Captain Tullius approved this action before he retired," Matread said. That could work, the reverence Tullius's crew seemed to treat him with. If Rivejer Tullius said something was to be, then it must be the right choice. I tentatively accepted this reasoning, but it was only then that I realized what it was Matread said.
"Retired?" I repeated, unsure what was meant by that.
"The battle at Bakura was trying for Captain Tullius, he has willingly stepped down under medical advisement until we arrive in the Core."
That was surprising - an Imperial Captain willingly surrendering power to his subordinates at the recommendation of a medical officer? I had known many of his kind - their go-to answer to exhaustion was more combat stimulants. It showed a level of trust or naivety that was rare in the Imperial Navy, which operated with strict competition between its members.
"If there's nothing else, Commander, then I leave you to your duties," Matread pulled a code cylinder from his tunic - I only just noticed he had two instead of the traditional one - and set it on the table before me. I accepted the cylinder, its metal surface cool under my gloved hand, before slipping it into my breast pocket.
With a salute, we went out opposite ways - Matread to whatever it was he did, and me back to my squadron.
Rattatak was more of a name on a map than an actual planet, and seeing it I understood why. It was barren and arid, covered in reddish sand across nearly the entire surface. I had only heard stories about Geonosis, but I imagined this is what it looked like. There was a space station in the planet's high orbit, another backwater Tagge construction a century out of date. Over the communications array, I learned that it had been refit with a massive arsenal of weapons - still not a threat to the Conqueror, but at least a curious discovery. A small flotilla huddled around the planet, a motley assortment of ships from the last five centuries. It would have been a sector defense fleet hardly worth mentioning, had the next report not come in with Matread's stern voice.
"The locals are hostile. Crimson Squadron, pull back to the rear of the formation and protect the Escapade."
The Escapade, the temporary name for the large Ssi-Ruuk cruiser at the back of our convoy. Despite being well-armed, it lacked a dedicated combat crew to defend the ship. It lacked much of anything at all, beyond being filled with tons of refugees gathered on our way to the Core. It was the softest target, and thus the one a band of pirates would want to target.
"Received Conqueror, redeploying," I announced over the communication as I set a waypoint for my squadron. Crimson-2 and Crimson-3, Marie and the shuttle pilot, followed at my wings as we drifted past the fleet.
"Don't know what they expect us to do if that destroyer attacks," Crimson-3 muttered, sounding more dour than worried. The largest and most modern ship in the Rattakan fleet was a heavily modified Providence destroyer. Its observation tower was gone and a pair of short, stubby wings were added beneath the hangar bays, allowing it to carry more turbolasers. It was hardly a threat to the Star Destroyers, but would be trouble for the Escapade.
We passed the Intrepid, getting a good look at the decimated remains of her bridge, before finally reaching the Escapade. The bulbous ship still bore its wounds from Bakura, but trudged along all the same. I fiddled with the communication array before opening a line of contact with the ship's bridge.
"Escapade, this is Crimson Leader. We're your escort from here on."
"Receiving, Crimson Leader. Nice to hear a friendly voice." The voice on the other end was oddly modulated - not that the incoming transmission was low quality, rather as if the communicator was not designed to translate spoken Basic. It was hard to make out his tone, but it was clear the situation aboard the Ssi-Ruuk cruiser was not ideal.
"Problems with the refugees?" I asked, suddenly serious as I made read to request reinforcements from the Conqueror.
"Like you wouldn't believe! We have them packed and organized, but a couple dozen Navytroopers can't keep the peace alone! And the complaining, I swear they are just bickering with eachother for fun. Here's hoping the Captain doesn't collect even more strays, or I'll grey prematurely!"
A lopsided smirk crossed my lips as I realized the man wasn't actually having trouble and just wanted to vent. Fair enough, he probably was pulled from his cushy position aboard one of the cruisers and told to command a ship had never seen before.
"The Captain was put on temporary leave, Lieutenant Screold made that call."
"You act like she isn't his, flyboy. No one on that Star Destroyer would breath without Tullius's say-so."
I shook my head, deciding not to engage further as I brought my fighter around behind the cruiser. Its cluster of engines burned brightly, as oddly shaped as the vessel itself.
"Like an oversized egg," Crimson-3 muttered over our communications channel, "Only direction it can point most of its firepower is forward."
"Not much worse than a Star Destroyer, then," I responded, unsure why I was defending the strange alien ship beyond making conversation. It wasn't an unfair comparison, though. Like the average Star Destroyer, the vessel's heaviest barrage relied on forward firepower. Unlike the Star Destroyer, its weapons ringed around its hull, simultaneously allowing it to shoot in every direction. Crimson-3 hummed in response, sounding as if he disagreed but unwilling to vocalize it to his superior. This stilted conversation ended as a ping came from the communication network in-system. Someone was speaking out over open comms, coming from the Rattatakan space station.
Curious, I opened the channel.
"-trespassing on the sovereign territory of the Ventress Empire! Surrender immediately for inspection! I repeat, this is the Cruiser Renegade, flagship of the Rattatak fleet!" The harsh voice repeated itself, their cheap communicator hissing and screeching.
"Ventress," I murmured, finding the name familiar though I wasn't sure from where.
"A Separatist commander from the Clone Wars, I think. Huh, wonder how he got out here?"
"She. Ventress is a woman." Marie finally spoke, briefly shocking me as I realized I hadn't heard a word from her since we left the Conqueror. Crimson-3 noticed as well, as he was quick to respond.
"Bloody hell, she speaks! I was starting to think you died in your cockpit."
"Bite me, Kurmen." Kurmen, that was Crimson-3's name. Still, it was nice to hear some amusement in Marie's voice again - for as little time as I had known the woman, seeing her so morose felt wrong. I smirked, letting them banter for a little while longer.
For all of their posturing, the Rattatakan fleet maintained their position - not eager to invoke the wrath of an Imperial fleet, no matter what its state was. We were unmolested in our passage through their system, and my leadership of Crimson Squadron passed without issue.
(Former) Governor Wilek Nereus
My status within this fleet was in flux, an uncertainty born of failure and betrayal. So sure was I of my position, so certain that I had domesticated those Bakuran savages, that I failed to see that insurrection growing beneath my very nose. Oh, I knew the Bakuran Senate was always scheming against me, and that I was a fool to leave so many potential enemies alive. If the other governors of the galaxy were to see my rulership, they would have been flabbergasted at my soft hand.
Easy for them to say, I thought bitterly, When they have Star Destroyers and legions of Stormtroopers, and they aren't forgotten on the edge of the known galaxy.
But it was a method that worked, it was only my error in leaving Eppie Belden alive and my attraction to Gaeriel Captison. Without those distractions, Bakura would have been a model planet! Now I had nothing, my worldly possessions left on that blasted world while I lived at the generosity of Captain Rivejer Tullius. I blamed him at first, Captain Tullius had not retaken my world as I expected of him - instead fleeing like a coward at the first sign of trouble. The rebels and insurgents were vastly outnumbered and outgunned by him, yet he gave them my world with little more than a few threats!
Of course, with the benefit of introspection and time, I had come to realize the logic in his decisions - even if my more emotional reaction was to froth in anger. Even if the Princess was untruthful in her claim that a rebel fleet was en route to Bakura, it would be suicide to remain so deep in hostile territory without reinforcements. Tullius was pragmatic, not cowardly - though I felt within him a kindred spirit. The cool anger he displayed to the Bakurans showcased a desire to glass the world, even if he knew doing so would end poorly with him.
The weeks since were slow and filled with little beyond abject boredom, Tullius ran a tight ship and his crew seemed to view me with contempt at best. Oh, they did not say anything, but the distaste was clear in their tones and body language! In their eyes, I had cost them time and forced their beloved Captain to flee - that must be what they were saying. It was by the will of Captain Rivejer Tullius that I was allowed to remain aboard the Conqueror and not be sent to the stolen alien vessel with the rest of the refugees. I doubted I would survive that, so until we arrived in the Core and I could access my personal bank accounts, I would need to remain in the Captain's good graces.
Captain Rivejer Tullius
The Mycelius landed was a shake, a testament to the lack of practice from my current pilots. Hangar technicians from the Conqueror, as my usual pilots were pressed into starfighter roles until we could get back to the Core - I would never complain about their flying again.
I rose unsteadily before patting down my tunic, followed closely by the quartet of my Stormtrooper guards.
"Commander Thawne has painted a poor picture of the situation on this vessel," I said, "Avoid shooting anyone, at least if they don't deserve it."
The Stormtroopers chuckled at that, but I was being deadly serious. The situation on Bakura had been an unmitigated disaster from start to finish, made worse by the trigger-happy nature of my security teams. Some of the blame sat on the shoulders of the Bakurans and Nereus, but there were diplomatic avenues that could have been taken.
Pot meet kettle, I thought with some self-deprecation, I did threaten them with orbital bombardment.
The worrying part was, I didn't know if I would have gone through with it. It was one thing to threaten precision strikes, it was another to give the other - but at that moment, my exhaustion and anger won out over reason and compassion. Never mind the fact that Screold, who had been my voice of reason originally, was suddenly baying for death!
They were right in the end, some rest did me well - able to think clearly again, I realized the need for a softer and more personable hand. Where better to start than the refugees we had gathered from Bakura? Loyalists and collaborators eager to put distance between Bakura and themselves must feel isolated, and it was my duty to remind them that the Empire looked out for its own.
"We'll keep that in mind, Captain." One of the Stormtroopers spoke, his voice deathly familiar. I blinked and turned to him, his unmarked armor not giving away his allegiance or rank.
"You, you're a Fett clone?" I asked, vaguely surprised. We had clones aboard my ship, every Imperial vessel did, but not any Fett clones - that lot was a dying breed, either literally or since the Empire started relying on other sources, "I wasn't aware any of your lot were in my section."
Though I did have the vaguest recollection of speaking to one - when I couldn't remember. The clone hesitated for a moment before responding, his tone cagey.
"I came from Wrath Station, sir."
Ah, I thought, Now I remember.
We'd picked up some 501st from Wrath Station, when I was fleeing during that whole fiasco. Quite embarrassing, now that I thought about it.
Blast, I realized, The Wrath crew is still in the brig!
I made a mental note to ask Screold what came of them, continuing to speak with the clone.
"You're from the 501st." My awe was genuine, a fact that the clone appeared to notice as he straightened with a proud air around him. The 501st had a reputation as being one of the most effective Stormtrooper units in the Empire, having even one of them was something of an honor. I turned my gaze to one of the other troopers, watching the exchange passively.
"No offense, of course."
"None taken, Captain," Another clone, his tone amused. I blinked and looked from him to the rest.
"Are you all 501st?" At their nods of affirmation, I continued, "Well, I suppose mine and the Commander's fears are unfounded, if it's you I have at my back."
Maybe I was laying it on a little thick, but clones were looked down on in the Empire and I did not want to anger the men keeping me safe.
The boarding ramp for the Mycelius lowered to the odd deck plates below, finally giving me a view of the Escapade's interior. I stepped down the ramp, breathing in the strange-smelling air as I was greeted by the vessel's temporary commander.
My eyes drifted around the hangar. A section was dominated by Imperial shuttles, the transports that had been ferrying the crew and refugees around the fleet. The rest of the space was dedicated toward the Ssi-Ruuk droid starfighters, though it might have been better to call them gunships. They were massive, oddly-shaped vessels with weapons pointed in every direction.
A shorter man with a clean-shaven face, he offered me a salute which I returned.
"Welcome aboard, Captain. Forgive my assumptions, but I was informed you were off active duty until we arrived at the Core?"
"A Captain never rests, Commander, even when his medical staff advises him. Besides, I thought I should check to see how our guests are handling their exodus."
Thawne nodded quickly at my words before making a face, glancing at his aide before speaking.
"Not great, sir. The Bakurans and Epicanthix are getting along well enough, but no one seems like the Mining Guild representatives. I don't have the forces to keep them in check, so they've started to form gangs, like a prison colony."
The man's agitation was clear and averted my eyes out of embarrassment. I had mostly forgotten about the refugees in the exodus and left the Commander with only enough men to garrison and crew the ship.
"Of course, my apologies, Commander. I will have a detachment put together immediately to assist in… law enforcement."
If the trigger-happy fools didn't shoot the civilians and call it a day, of course. I was still meaning to have words with Colonel Maab. Thawne panicked, at the idea that I was doubting his competence no doubt, and quickly responded.
"No sir, that won't be necessary. The fault is mine-"
"Nonsense, Commander," I waved his words away with a lopsided smile, "I've made your job difficult enough. Expect them once I return to the Conqueror."
"I… Of course, thank you, Captain." Thawne said after a momentary hesitation, bowing his head before turning away. I walked alongside him my guards and his staff walking behind us.
"You were mentioning that the Bakurans and the former crew were getting along well? Good, that makes our lives earlier."
"The crew? Oh no, we keep the Pwecks separate - they are technically prisoners of war, though they seem to like us more than the Ssi-Ruuk."
I blink, but do not respond beyond an 'I see'. Who were the Epicanthix, then? And the Mining Guild? I ran through my memories at Bakura and remembered no mention of the Mining Guild being anywhere in the system.
Unless I'm even less informed of what was happening there than I initially feared.
"I will let you take the lead, Commander," I said, turning to Thawne, "We'll meet with the whole lot of them, I think."
We met with the Bakurans' current leader Captain Conn Doruggan, one of the ranking Imperial officers on Bakura behind the late Thanas and Nereus. He was a decent sort, a beleaguered officer trying to keep his people in line despite technically having betrayed the Empire during the Bakuran inturrection. He had surrendered the Bakuran Senate to Maab when the Colonel arrived, and joined the exodus when the chance arose.
The Epicanthix turned out to be a group of near-humans from the planet Panatha, a mining world not near Bakura but on our travels to Galantos. Apparently, Screold had taken to picking up strays. The list of officers with whom I would need to have words grew with each passing minute. This group had fled their homeworld because they were collaborators with the extremely unpopular Mining Guild, which had been muscling in on their worlds. Speaking with the former Overseer, I understood immediately why he was disliked.
It was the last group that was the most interesting, and the ones I intended to meet them in the first place. Deeper in the vessel, close to what the Commander claimed was the engineering block, a team of beleaguered Navytrooper opened to door to a series of strange chambers. A bunkroom of sorts, though clearly for non-humans.
The "Pweck" were a reptilian species like the Ssi-Ruuk, albeit shorter in stature and far thinner. They might have been as long as I was tall if they were stretched out to the full length, but stooped as they were their heads reached my chin. They had beaked heads, with rows of needle-like teeth that made my fist clench at my side. A part of me recoiled at their alien features, but I knew I needed to keep a strong face and not show fear - before my men or them. I stepped forward, eyeing a nearby protocol droid and addressed the group.
"Who here speaks for you?" That the protocol droid didn't speak told me they could understand Basic, if not speak it. The "Pweck" were scattered around the far side of the room, some curled among plush cushions others standing in small clusters. The group glanced among themselves, chittering and whistling in their strange tongue. For a long moment, I feared none would step forward, until at last a Pweck rose from its cushion and slunk over. It appeared identical to the rest, same brown scales and size, yet the rest seemed to treat it with some reverence. The nearest dipped their heads as it passed, as it did when it reached me. It whistled a low sound, almost musical to the ear.
"This one is the eldest of the slaves, and greets you." I open my mouth to respond before catching myself and glancing at the protocol droid.
"Slaves?" I ask, though it was inkeeping with these brutal Ssi-Ruuk, I supposed. Enslaving a clearly related species was barbarity.
"The P'w'eck species are a subservient species to the Ssi-Ruuk," The protocol droid explained plainly. The Pweck reacted poorly to this statement, the lead one hissing lowly as the rest grew agitated. The sounds of my guards shifting spurred me into action as I thrust a hand forward.
"Well, this group at least shall be slaves no more, I should think. My name is Captain Rivejer Tullius, at your service."
The Pweck looked at me and then my hand, its expression unreadable. The protocol droid whistled out helpfully, no doubt explaining what I was doing to the alien. After a long moment, it reached a hand forward. Three fingers with long, hooked talons closed around my hand. It was oddly warm, unexpected for a reptile, and deceptively strong for its size. Looking into the unknowable eyes, a thrill of primal fear ran up my spine that I had to fight down. I shook its hand firmly before letting it go. The hand moved behind my back, clenching and unclench as I tried to work off the nervous energy.
"This one greets you, Lord-Captain."
"Just Captain," I chuckled awkwardly, "I'm no Lord. Though I would know your name, I'd hate to just call you: P- P'w… Pweck."
"This one has not yet earned its name, as given by the Masters."
"You are your own Masters now, so I think that honor is yours."
The P'w'eck cocked its head at me, a curious movement that might have been endearing were it not for the being doing it. It considered my words for a moment, before responding in its tongue.
"This one will consider your words, Lord-Captain Tul'li'ss," The protocol droid almost sounded like it was choking, pronouncing the name. I merely smiled, turning to the P'w'eck again and ignoring the continued usage of the title.
"As you wish. I did come here for another reason, however," I waved a hand to a nearby outcropping before taking a seat. The p'w'eck lowered onto its haunches rather than sit next to me, its large tail coiling over its feet.
"What can you tell me about the Ssi-Ruuk and their 'entrenching'?"
The agitation returned, and the p'w'eck representative was very eager to speak with me.
Before I left, I learn what Thawne was called by the p'w'eck.
T'haw'nee
I felt a bit better about my name.
Capital Ships:
Conqueror – Imperial I-Class Star Destroyer – Captain Rivejer Tullius, Lieutenant Ashsca Screold, Commander Rius Harand, Chief Wyatdrew Matread, Commander Ciena Ree, & Colonel Raab
Intimidation – Imperial I-Class Star Destroyer – Commander Milgern
Escapade (Shriwirr) - Shree-Class Battlecruiser - ?
Cruisers:
Intrepid – Victory I-Class Star Destroyer – Lieutenant ? (Dead)
Steadfast – Victory I-Class Star Destroyer - Captain Zanus
Viscount – Strike-Class Medium Cruiser - ?
Contester – Strike-Class Medium Cruiser - ?
Absolution – Strike-Class Medium Cruiser - Lieutenant Pax
Valor – Strike-Class Medium Cruiser - Commander Titus Cain
Frigates:
Spite – Carrack-Class Light Cruiser - ?
Loner – Carrack-Class Light Cruiser - Lieutenant Lo Bannick
? – Carrack-Class Light Cruiser - ?
? – Carrack-Class Light Cruiser - ?
Corvettes:
Overlord – Lancer-Class Frigate - Captain Forster
? – Lancer-Class Frigate - ?
? – Lancer-Class Frigate - ?
? – Lancer-Class Frigate - ?
? - DP20 Frigate - ?
? - Marauder-Class Corvette - ?
Bakura II - IR-3F-Class Light Frigate - ?
Bakura V - IR-3F-Class Light Frigate - ?
