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 7 - Galantos II
Captain Rivejer Tullius
"Captain, these plans are unusable." I closed my eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, but the attempts at calming my nerves were for naught. The Chief of the Conqueror's engineering section, a large man shaved bald, held a stack of datapads - filled with the information collected from the Escapade and my interview with the p'w'eck crew. His disbelief was something I shared, even if it wasn't with the same intensity.
"I understand your issues with the reports, I'm not asking you to believe them," I said diplomatically, trying to detach myself from the argument as I walked to the elevator, but the man stayed glued to me. He wielded the datapad like a mace, whipping it around as he spoke.
"Spirituality and blood sacrifices are not engineering! I've had my teams rip these starfighters apart, pour over every inch, and do you know what we've found?"
"Am I supposed to guess?"
"They shouldn't work!" The man continued as if I hadn't spoken, so lost in his own world as he was. I grumbled under my breath, speeding up only for him to keep pace.
"I don't need them to work, just how they may work. Have the pweck walk you through it, just give me something I can report when we're in the Core."
"I tried that," The man said petulantly, hardly acting his age or rank, "It started normal enough: how does the propulsion system work, what fuel do they use for the blasters? But then they insisted that we needed to feed the damned things 'life energy' to make them work."
"Then note that in the report," The elevators came into view and I barely stopped myself from breathing a sigh of relief, "Whatever their exact words were if you must. Just try not to offend them. Spiritual or not, they are the only ones who know how that cruiser works, and I would rather stay on their good side."
The engineer's sour expression grew darker, but he nodded with a defeated sigh.
"Yes, Captain."
"Good man," I said as the elevator doors closed, and I was granted a brief reprieve as I rose to the bridge. Unfortunately, the heavy and cold weight in my hand served as a sterling reminder that there were other problems I needed to address - a list that grew by the hour, or so it seemed.
The doors opened, and the rumbling chaos of the rear bridge filled my ears. I took in a deep breath and stepped forward. The sharp snap of leather boots met my entry, the pair of Navytroopers on duty announcing my arrival to the bridge at large. Despite my extended absence from the management of my ship, the crew saluted me with the same discipline as always - it almost hid the fact that I had been run from the bridge like a naughty schoolboy. I marched forward, nodding to the officers I passed, and was met halfway to the forward bridge by Lieutenant Screold. She stopped a pace in front of me and offered a regulation salute of her own.
"Captain Tullius," She said in greeting, moving to rest at my dismissal, "I see you learned of our imminent arrival before I had the chance to warn you. We are thirty minutes out from the N'zoth system. After we resupply, it's an hour's jump to Galantos."
Almost home, I thought, but I kept the giddiness from my face.
"Very good, Lieutenant," I said, keeping my tone frosty, "I see you have been keeping things in good order, as expected."
Screold preened under the compliment, which was a bit surprising. Did she think I expected her to fail? Still, a more vindictive part of me wanted to snatch away that moment of victory, so I held up my right hand.
"Lieutenant, do you know what this is?" I asked.
"... A bar of metal?"
"Is that a question, Lieutenant?"
"A bar of metal, sir."
Indeed it was, a large slab of metal was held aloft in my hand, dull grey with the Mining Guild logo stamped on the top, followed by an identification number.
"Correct. More specifically, it is a refined bar of carvanium."
At that moment, recognition flashed across Screold's face, followed closely by worry and apprehension. Ah, she seemed to remember something she forgot to report. Screold opened her mouth to respond, but I was quicker.
"A nifty mineral, carvanium. It is used in many everyday metal alloys, from shipbuilding to blasters to construction. Chief among these is durasteel, one with which we are familiar. It is also a temperamental material - too much and durasteel becomes brittle, too little and likes to warp under heat - so you always need to add a precise amount of it to the alloy," Finally, I looked back to Screold's eyes, "Lieutenant, why are four-thousand metric tonnes of these bars in my cargo bay?"
Screold looked from my face to the bar in my hand. She was rapidly trying to think of an explanation, I could recognize those quirks in her expression.
"I… Apologize for failing to report their presence, Captain." She said after a long pause, continuing, "I deemed their collection a worthwhile endeavor to address the fleet's recent expenditures."
I looked down at the bar in my hand again, gently shaking it to and fro as I tried to balance its weight. My glove, largely ceremonial and for show, did little to stop the creeping chill coming from its surface. There was merit in Screold's choices, though I was still peeved she acted in such a way without my go-ahead. I could hardly criticize her for her actions, but I could for how she took them. If Screold allowed herself to be dragged off at any opportunity, then the crew might start to believe I had no control over her - if they didn't already. That, or she was acting within my orders, which was worse. Still, weighing the potential consequences of her actions against the real value of the bar in my hands, I found the promise of credits soothed my annoyance. However, I lacked any knowledge in metallurgy beyond what I had hastily researched on my way here and did not know where or how we could offload the supply.
Still, I could not let Screold think I completely agreed with her actions, could I? I set my lips into a firm line and handed the bar to Screold, who took it with a bemused expression.
"I see," Was all I offered before turning to the forward bridge. I entered, Screold trailing behind me as she awkwardly held the refined metal bar, and looked over the controlled chaos of my bridge. The navigation, communication, and sensor teams were at their station, preparing for a smooth transition into real space. Gunnery commanders and officers were also at the ready, a pervasive paranoia had spread across the bridge in light of our recent troubles.
The next half hour passed by slowly, characterized by familiarizing myself with the goings-on of the Conqueror and the fleet since our departure from Bakura. Despite the troubles, the crew were in high spirits - the closer we were to loyal Imperial space, the more hopeful they became. It was a sentiment I shared, the sooner we were back in the Core the sooner I could return to my comfortable place of following orders rather than making them.
"Reversion to real space in fifteen seconds," The navigation officer announced. The swirling blue vortex seemed to stretch as the hyperdrive lost power, slowly dragging us out of the mind-numbing dimension and back to reality—a pressure built up behind my eyes, forcing me to blink. My ears popped as realspace snapped into place in front of the Conqueror, an endless expanse of nothingness, and the pale star at the center of the N'zoth system. I shuddered, and after a moment the wrongness of hyperspace faded from my memory, I turned to Screold and nodded to her.
"Command is still yours, Lieutenant. I will be in the rear bridge."
"Sir," Screold saluted me, still carrying the damned bar of carvanium, before leaving to give her orders. I did the same, finding my stomping grounds as I had left them.
I would never admit as much to my crew, little more than anyone else, but the rest over the last few weeks had done wonders for my mental state. I had not realized how short my temper had become, nor how unfocused I was in day-to-day life until I enjoyed many more hours of sleeping.
Within minutes, we were connected to the local battlenet, allowing me up-to-date information in the system. My eyes were naturally drawn to a trio of massive figures holding over the titular N'zoth itself - Super Star Destroyers. Being in the presence of the Executor had been awe-inspiring due to its reputation, but having served in the Arrowhead I had seen my fair share of star dreadnoughts. That being said, a thrill of trepidation ran up my spine at the sight of them. The largest was a copy of the Executor, another of the line by the name Intimidator. Following that in size was a Mandator-III, the Rampage. The last was the smallest, but by no means weak. The Armadia was a Bellator-class, a pocket star dreadnought if such a phrase had any real meaning. Any one of the three was a match for my entire fleet twice over, and together may have been a threat to Arrowhead Command as a whole. Their fleet was equally massive, the Black Fleet was viewed as the boogeymen of the Deep Core. Positioned to race into the region in the event of an invasion from there, a sterling reminder that the Empire had learned from the Clone Wars.
"We are being hailed, Captain," One officer said from his station, turning to face me. I nodded, calling through the bridge doors.
"I shall take this, Lieutenant."
"Aye, sir!" She responded back, her voice echoing through the doorway. I pulled my code cylinder from my breast pocket and activated the communicator, accepting the request.
"Arrowhead Command, this is the Intimidator. Forward identification codes now."
"Received, Intimidator. Sending identification," It was one thing to run around with the transponder of a fleet, it was another to have the appropriate access codes. While I wasn't part of Arrowhead Command's inner circle, my credentials would at least confirm I was part of the fleet.
"... Identity confirmed. Welcome to N'zoth, Captain. Please state your business," With the messy problem of identification out of the way, the communications officer was notably more pleasant - or as much as a communications officer could be, in any case.
"We are passing through on our way to the Core from Endor. I request permission to dock with… Black Fifteen for resupply."
"Wait one."
The communications channel went dead, and I was left standing in silence as I waited for the technician to return. A chill rose up my spine, a certain wariness that was becoming increasingly common as of late. Unfortunately, N'zoth was not a place I could fight my way out of - not like Bakura or Wrath Station. Finally, a voice spoke again. This one was far more cultured and carried authority.
"This is Admiral Jian Paret. You are a long way from Endor, Conqueror." Suspicion dripped from the man's voice.
"It is a complicated story, sir," I said, the weight of the last few weeks laying heavy on my mind. However, unaware of what had been transpiring in the greater Empire due to my furlow, I decided to fish for information, "Though I am certain you are more aware of the goings on than I."
The silence that followed stretched for long enough that I feared we had lost connection. When Paret spoke again, it was a tense and hesitant voice.
"... We shall speak of this more face-to-face. You are being forwarded a course to Black Fifteen. We have space for your flag, but the rest will need to wait."
"Understood," I said immediately, despite my growing apprehension. This was all starting to feel very familiar, "I will arrive shortly, Admiral."
"Very good. Intimidator, out." The communication line closed, leaving me back in the familiar din of the bridge. My hand rose to stroke my cheek, running first over my burns and then my cheek in a familiar nervous tick. Unfortunately, flight was even less likely here than it was at Bakura or Wrath. An entire fleet was stationed here, with control of a communications relay and hyperwave sensors - they could jump across the entire system and head us off before we had time to punch in the coordinates.
The holomap lit up, showcasing a new course charted for my section. Directly into the heart, and overlapping firing arcs, of a fleet several times my size.
"Captain?" Matread asked from behind, though I did not turn to face him.
"An uneasy crossing, Commander," I told the old Chief, folding my hands behind my back, "I've walked us willingly into too many traps already."
"We've almost made it, sir," Matread argued, likely sensing what I was going to say, "One more distraction, and then we're home."
I clenched my fists, staring at the galactic map hovering near the system's representation. Agitated, I waved a hand over the map to dismiss it, refocusing on the local system. The trio of Star Dreadnoughts felt more like the laser gate of a prison.
And ramming these would do me far more harm than good.
"Lieutenant Screold, follow the heading graciously provided by our hosts," I ordered, tapping a finger on the rim of the holotable.
"Yes, Captain," Screold responded immediately, no sign of trepidation in her voice as the Conqueror burned unerringly toward Black-15.
Black-15 was a familiar Type-II orbital repair yard, with docking bays like long angular arms stretching out from the cylindrical body. Star Destroyers and smaller vessels were attached to several bays, with many more drifting not far away. Some bays still held half-completed hulls ranging a number of different capital ships - each under heavy construction and hidden beneath a swarm of service vessels.
The Conqueror was directed to one bay, flanked on either side by two fully constructed Star Destroyers - though it was clear that all but the strictly necessary lights were off. We slid slowly into the waiting grasp of the docking clamps, Screold carefully giving orders to the helmsman. When only a few kilometers separated us from the station, control was surrendered to the station controllers. Tractor beams, far from capable of resisting us if we wanted to escape, gently guided the Conqueror the rest of the way into the clamps. In the emptiness of space, I could not hear those mechanical hands close, but a distant hiss filled the back of my mind with an perturbing finality. Unless we were released by the station, the Conqueror was going nowhere.
I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding, turning to face Screold.
"I will meet with the Admiral. The Conqueror is yours, Lieutenant." Screold saluted me, was that a hint of apprehension in her eyes? I didn't know, nor did I dare ask, as I turned from the bridge and marched to the elevator.
The tram ride across the Conqueror was quiet and tense. I sat at the front of the small lift, uncomfortably pushed forward by the number of occupants. Half a dozen stormtroopers sat behind and across from me - holding the carbines in their laps due to the lack of room. It was paranoid to bring so many guards, and ultimately a fruitless gesture if the Admiral had poorly boding plans for me. What were half a dozen stormtroopers, no matter their skill, against a station of defenders? Still, their presence calmed my nerves, if only somewhat.
Nestled on the opposite bench between the burly soldiers was Wilek Nereus, looking particularly unhappy about this turn of events. To be entirely honest, I wasn't sure what he could add the this conversation - beyond lending credence to my story. Still, it was either him, Ree, or one of the people I did not know aboard the Escapade. There was also a more mercenary perspective to consider: Nereus was a better hostage than I was, and Nereus could lend some authority with his rank that I could not. The two of us were dishonored, I had gotten lost in my fleet and he had lost his planet, but he was the higher-ranked dishonored fool. If worse came to worse, I could use the tried and true naval tradition of blaming everything on him.
"I have been invited to meet one Admiral Jian Paret, myself and Governor Nereus will speak with and appraise him of the situation in the Moddell Sector. After, we shall leave. I think it would behoove us to remain mindful and respectful of our fellow Imperials, they are in a difficult part of space after all."
In other words, if or when they try to detain us, please do not kill anyone.
I was certain my eventual return to the Core would not be the triumph I dreamed of, but rather one filled with difficult questions about where in the blazes I had been for the last few months.
The stormtroopers did not respond, to their credit - though I saw hands tighten around the grips of their carbines. The concept of not fighting appeared to rankle the soldiers, but I hoped loyalty would win out over bloodlust. After all, many of the stormtroopers were not granted the honor of boarding the now-named Escapade, a fact that appeared to anger many troopers if my sources were to be believed.
I longed for the day when I could return to the Arrowhead, my days filled with boring patrols and long reports - where the highlight was a good cup of caf and the quiet hum of a bridge at work.
The tram turned the final corner, ending at the starboard docking bay. A large blast door covered one wall, flanked by a team of beleaguered-looking navytroopers. With so many of their numbers aboard the Escapade or scattered among the fleet, the Conqueror's complement had been forced into double and even triple shifts. While there had been no reports of rumblings among the ranks, I was canny enough to know it was inevitable. They were all being compensated accordingly - out of my pocket, of course. With each day that passed, my funds appeared lighter and lighter. I had never considered myself a miserly man, up until everyone and their mother had their hands in my purse.
Still, it brought a strange joy to my heart with the sudden reaction my presence made. Their exhaustion disappeared in a heartbeat, each man straightening into a crisp salute and standing at attention as I dismounted my hovering chariot.
The good nature and pride vanished with the processed wind as my eyes beheld the EWEB turret being carried around the next corner, alongside another dozen navytroopers. It would seem paranoia was not limited to just me, and my crew were not eager to take chances.
"The docking umbilical has been secured, Captain," The leading sergeant announced, lowering his arm at my gesture. I tore my gaze from the turret being set up across from the blast door. I would need to defuse this situation before the local station garrison got the wrong idea.
"Very good, sergeant. Ah… I see you have broken out our heavy weapon complement?" I said, gesturing to the weapon team nearby, but before I could continue the man spoke over me.
"We didn't have time to pull up heavier hardware," He sounded apologetic, embarrassed that his preparations didn't include more. The man straightened again, "Better safe than sorry, Captain. I've been informed another team is enroute, just in case the locals get a little… handsy, as it were."
Ah, I thought bitterly, Of course. My galant saviors, ready to rescue their Captain if or when he is entrapped again?
Of course, given my current track record the last two times I interacted with other Imperials - last three, if one counted Teshik trying to make me commit to his death pact - then perhaps this preparation was necessary? Then again, the entire complement of navytroopers, stormtroopers, and every other armed security officer across the section could throw themselves through that docking platform and still likely be outnumbered ten-to-one. I raised a hand, making the wave the EWEB away, at least until I was away, but the blast door suddenly opened.
A loud hiss filled the hallway, revealing a welcoming team of three men in gray uniforms. The lead man, a younger fellow with a black goatee, opened his mouth to greet us before choking on his words. His bright eyes were wide as he took in me, my security, and their overwhelming firepower.
I sighed, a quiet thing so as not to appear as if I hadn't planned this and lacked control of my crew (In all fairness, I did, but the Black-15 crew didn't need to know that).
Forestalling any argument or call for reinforcements, I stepped forward across the threshold and snapped my heels together.
"Captain Rivejer Tullius, 2nd Flank Squadron, Arrowhead Command. This is Governor Wilek Nereus of Bakura. Am I to assume that you are here to bring us to Admiral Jian Paret?"
My words stirred a reaction from the trio, all of them quickly snapping off crisp if hasty salutes.
"Yes, Captain. Uh… Will your guards be coming with us?" The man's nervous gaze passed over the throng of navytroopers, freezing longer on what I assumed was the blaster cannon. I glanced back, wincing as I saw another pair of navytroopers arrive to put a durasteel barricade in front of the EWEB, providing cover for its operators. By the time I returned, I feared I would find trench lines in my hallway.
"Just the stormtroopers, myself, and Governor Nereus. Will that be acceptable?"
"Yes, Captain. Please, follow me."
The trio spun on their heels and set off at a brisk pace, clearly eager to not be so close to such a well-armed welcoming party - doubly so when their own guards stood at the other end of the hallway. Without a glance to my chosen party, I took off after them, matching their lockstep alongside the stormtroopers. Nereus strove to keep up somewhere to my right, still holding his tongue as his grim expression was set forward.
Beyond the blast door on the other side of the docking tunnel, a comparatively small team of four navytroopers greeted us - alarm and caution in their gazes as they took in the newcomers. Alongside them were a pair of aliens dressed in robes, the species of which I did not recognize.
They were both tall relative to the humans they stood among. Though their robes were baggy and voluminous, it was clear that the aliens were skeleton in their limbs and bodies. What skin that was exposed appeared to be rough and dry. Their faces both held red, spiked crests that swelled and deflated with their breathing. Their faces were vaguely humanoid, but not to the point that I could read their expressions. Their eyes were set into similarly skeletal heads, with elongated skulls that were covered in rough skin and spikes. They were far from the strangest aliens I had ever seen, but I could help but wonder what they were doing here.
"I expect I am to be disarmed?" I asked, reaching for the holster at my hip. My actions were mirrored by Nereus, though his expression said he would rather have not done that, but we were stopped by a swift shake of the young officer's head.
"Good heavens, no. We could never expect you to be unarmed aboard the station!"
That gave me pause. My hand hovered over the faux-leather holster for a moment longer before awkwardly sliding back down my leg.
"I… see." I said, patting at the flare of my trousers for a moment before continuing, "Then lead the way, we should not keep the Admiral waiting."
The younger officer nodded his head and signaled down the long, featureless hallway for us to follow. So our motley assortment of officers, stormtroopers, and alien attendants set out down the empty passage. Now away from my heavily armed security team, the younger officer had calmed enough to slow his stride and converse. I wasn't sure how much to say to him, nor what the galaxy at-large knew about Endor at this point, but he appeared willing enough to do most of the speaking.
"Black-15 is the most advanced repair facility in the Empire," The man explained, walking alongside me as we turned a corner, "State-of-the-art repair drones, extensive crew facilities, an advanced repulsor and tractor suite for course correction and directing starships."
"I see." I said slowly, eyes scanning the featureless walls in an attempt to identify these advanced features. I had been aboard Type-IIs before, and docked at many more. They were the space station equivalent of a Dreadnaught heavy cruiser - if you've seen one, you've seen them all. It didn't matter what fancy garbage you strapped to it.
"We have a total crew complement of eight-hundred - two-hundred officers, five-hundred enlisted, and one-hundred civilians and auxiliary staff," The man continued as if I hadn't spoken, but his words dragged me back into the conversation. I quirked an eyebrow at his comment, that was… remarkably low for a station of this size.
"Eight-hundred?" I reiterated, looking forward again, "Down from what?"
"I think the average is four thousand?" The man said slowly, thinking about his answer, "Five thousand? Depends on the size, I suppose."
"How?" I asked, "A station this size, tending a fleet that size? Automation?"
Automation; it was a buzzword in the Empire, and not a particularly positive one at that. It was a cultural disdain for the word, one born of the most brutal conflict in modern history. Droids were viewed poorly in the Empire, and granting a large degree of control to a number of droids or drones was a social faux pas at best. A generation of Clone Wars veterans and their students would rather throw a dozen humans at a problem than a single droid. Of course, I wasn't much better - though I did not view droids with the same paranoia, I most certainly did not like them. Many people on Naboo still remembered the Trade Federation's invasion. Nute Gunray's name was a curse even to this day.
"As I said, the most advanced station in the Empire," The man preened under my surprise, as if he himself were in charge of it, "Droids linked to a central computer handle day-to-day tasks and larger projects. There is a complement of around one-thousand Yevetha, but they mostly handle repair and construction. Efficient builders, I believe the governor lobbied to have them used instead of wookies on future projects - but I haven't heard much about that for a while."
Ah. I was not so naive as to not realize what the other officer meant, Slaves.
Xenophobia was prevalent in the Empire, and that often presented itself in the form of slavery. I did not trust aliens, but my opinions of them otherwise was indifference. I was born in a city, somewhere gungans rarely tread without good reason. They preferred their swamps and outskirt towns, and I had never had much of a reason to venture far from home. Eriadu was a different deal entirely. Xenophobia was prevalent, and it was one such example of hatred forming into slavery. The expansive and rapidly developing industrial backbone of Eriadu always required more bodies to grease its wheels. My early life was one of extremes, born on a world where the practice was abhorred and growing into adulthood on a world that reveled in it.
For my part, I never trusted slaves. I peered at the Yevetha - for what else could they be - out of the corner of my eye, partially expecting them to lash out at any moment. Slavery represented a risk, unenthusiastic laborers being forced to work rarely produced the best products nor did their treatment engender loyalty. That was evidenced in the pweck and their eagerness to work with and help me. I'd rather a dozen paid humans than a dozen enslaved wookies - though that was not to say I would refuse wookie laborers just so long as I didn't need to worry about them pulling my arms off.
Perhaps I was a bit xenophobic, but I was practical. And paranoid.
"Still, a mere two-thousand souls is hardly enough to be efficient."
"You underestimate these Yevetha. If they are good at anything, it's building ships. Just one of them can strip a TIE in half the time it would take a whole team of technicians."
As we moved deeper into the station, we discovered more of its crew. Imperial officers and navytroopers moved on their business, joined by the odd Yevetha. Most wore gray uniforms similar to those of the Imperials they walked among - appearing as technicians were it not for their obviously different species. One might have forgotten they were slaves, but even someone like me could notice the relationship. Humans interacted with each other - they stopped to talk, to bark orders, or a number of other social actions. The Yevetha did not, they moved with a purpose. They did not stop for a moment to speak with their overlords or each other, and the Imperials did not initiate either. It was as if the Yevetha were specters, walking from place to place entirely unnoticed by the world around them.
We were turned down a hallway labeled "Administration", yet the number of Yevetha did not decline. The quality of security did increase, however. Navytroopers were replaced by white-armored troopers - Navy Commandos. Though their armor appeared similar, I could already feel the disdain emanating from my escort. Pale helmets turned to track us, hands tightened around carbines as both sides seemed eager to turn this growing tension into violence. Then, we arrived at our destination.
Another pair of naval soldiers waited at an unmarked door, drawing to attention at our approach. The younger officer turned to face me, gesturing to the door.
"Admiral Paret awaits you inside, sir. Your guards will need to remain outside."
"Naturally," I agreed, while subtly taking in the hallway. A few Navy Commandos lingered at a distance, but my stormtroopers stood still as statues in a line along the opposite hallway. They were staring down the two door guards, who returned their glares with what I assumed was the same disdain.
I hoped that when I stepped out of this room, it was not into a firefight.
The inside of the chamber was not the conference hall I was expecting. Four curved couches surrounded a central holotable, some sort of sporting event playing at the center. Paintings covered the four walls, even flanking the doorways, and were joined by more couches and beds. It was some sort of luxury room and something I had not been expecting aboard an Imperial repair station.
Two men awaited me, one physically and the other over a hologram. The present man was an officer, clearly Paret based on his rank plaques and uniform. The other, seated on the couch to Paret's right, was far more ostentatiously dressed. Though the blue glow hid color, it was clear he was wearing a white governor's uniform, a large fur shawl around his shoulders that slid under his body like a cape. He was portly, though with how his arms bulged under the sleeves of his uniform I had to wonder how much of that was muscle. His thinly mustachioed face turned to face me with an easy grin, even as his beady eyes seemed to drill into my soul.
The most surprising part of the man's ensemble was not how he was dressed, but the two figures he held close to his body. They were Yevetha, females though I did not know enough about the species to discern that based on their features. It was how they were presented that gave me the idea, provocative and low-cut dresses that would not have been out of place on Zeltros. Curiously, despite the intimate position, the Yevetha had the same devoid and cold expressions.
Or perhaps their relationship was not consensual.
"Captain Tullius, reporting," I said, ending that train of thought with a sharp salute to the two men.
"Governor Wilek Nereus," I'd nearly forgotten Nereus was with me, his voice coming out low. The man had been oddly subdued as of late, as if losing Bakura had sapped all the cunning out of him. It was a welcome change, Nereus was far too ambitious and egotistical for the former Governor of a middle-of-nowhere planet.
Paret rose and returned the gesture while the governor signaled to the couch opposite the Admiral.
"Welcome, Captain, Governor. Please, sit." The man said as a greeting, waving his hand vaguely before returning it to the shoulder of his rightmost companion. Nereus and I stepped forward and claimed the two empty couches - leaving me across from Paret and Nereus across from the other governor.
There was a moment as Nereus and I got comfortable - or tried to, in my case. The couch was too plush, too soft. Eventually, I just mirrored Parek's posture - back straight, sitting on the edge of the couch's front, with my legs crossed. Nereus, meanwhile, seemed to melt into the cushions. His posture betrayed the comfort he must have been feeling, even if his face remained stony.
"Gentlemen," The governor began after a moment, "I am Grand Moff Gido Weblin. This is Admiral Jian Paret. We are pleased that you have accepted our invitation."
"We are honored, sir," I responded diplomatically.
"As we are with your presense. Last I had heard, Death Squadron was mustering in the Moddell Sector." Governor Weblin announced pleasantly, though his words appeared to be new news to Admiral Paret. The man looked from the governor to me with a new interest.
"Death Squadron, not Arrowhead Command?" The officer reiterated, with Weblin responding before I had the chance.
"Sections of Arrowhead were folded into Death Squadron, officers hand-picked by Harrsk himself." I gave a lopsided smile at that, knowing the truth of my selection. While Admiral Harrsk had selected his preferred cadre of officers, I was pulled to fill in the ranks and cover unwanted positions. A fact made clear by my separation from the rest of Arrowhead Command.
"It was an honor to be a member, however briefly," I said, once again maintain my diplomatic tone. The revelations about Lord Vader and what had happened aboard the second Death Star would make that far less of an honor, if proven true.
Curiously, my words seemed to earn some confusion from Weblin.
"I suppose that leads into the question of the hour," Weblin spoke slowly, eyes gaining a certain intensity even under his jovial disposition, "What are you doing here?"
I clicked my teeth together for a heartbeat, already having planned how I was going to deal with this conversation yet freezing as I was put on the spot. The last time I had contact with the greater Empire, I had spoken with Grand Admiral Teshik on Wrath Station. To be more exact, the last time I had interacted with Imperials outside Bakura I had fought my way off of Wrath Station with my guards killing a number of the station crew. Considering that Randd had probably not died since then, the latest news about me would have been attacking another Imperial.
It was with this revelation that my heart froze - the latest news about me was treason. At that moment, I expected the door behind me to open, for Navy Commandos to pour in with blasters and batons and binders to grab me. Just as suddenly, I calmed down - if they were going to arrest me, they would have done so when I boarded the station. Better yet, they would have decimated my section with their fleet before I could get close enough. They certainly wouldn't try to apprehend me when I was in a meeting across from the fleet's Admiral.
The reason for why that was escaped me, though I could theorize.
It could be that Governor Randd was dead, Moddell was busy after all. The rebels may have stumbled across Wrath Station and wiped it out, silencing the Governor before he could reach Imperial space. There was also the possibility that Randd had not had any contact with the greater Empire, or news hadn't traveled this far yet. That seemed the less likely option, news traveled slow from that part of the galaxy, but not that slow - especially not when Weblin already knew about Death Squadron. I opted not to mention the confrontation if they did not.
"I suppose I should start with the aftermath of the battle?" I said, not wanting to rehash what was old news, "After the destruction of the Death Star and the Executor, I-"
Yet so early into my story, I was interrupted. Weblin jolted in his seat, eyes wide as the two consorts showed the first emotions since my arrival - squawking in surprise as they were nearly thrown from the couch they shared with the Governor. Paret was leaning forwards now, surprise crossing his features even as his eyes gleamed with naked interest.
"The Death Star? Destroyed?"
I blinked, looking between either man before sharing a glance with Nereus. He appeared as bemused by their alarm as I was, was the Imperial propaganda machine really leaning that heavily into denial?
"They built a second one?" That was Paret this time, silencing my train of thought once more.
"I suppose that makes sense," Weblin said after a moment, leaning back into his couch again and pulling the slaves close, "Death Squadron doesn't move for just anything."
A thought occurred to me, one that was hard to believe. They couldn't be ignorant, not this close to the Core - not a Governor and a fleet commander, surely? I cleared my throat, leaning forward and studying the two men.
"What news have you heard about Endor? About Moddell?"
"Nothing," Weblin answered immediately, "The Deep Core is a difficult place, Tullius. Hyperlanes shift constantly. We might technically be in the Core, but those distinctions do not matter here."
"Local governors have begun fighting each other," Paret added, "Not uncommon, but usually the Empire does not let them go on for this long. I suppose the loss of yet another Death Star would distract Coruscant?"
"... It would seem that I will need to be the bearer of bad news," I said slowly, drumming my fingers on my knees as my nerves made themselves known once more, "It wasn't just the Death Star that was destroyed. A significant portion of Death Squadron, the Executor… The Emperor was also lost. Lord Vader, Admiral Piett, the command staff aboard the Death Star."
Weblin and Paret froze in their seats, alarm flashing across their features before they quickly squashed their emotions down. I glanced at Nereus again, his lips set into a thin line and looking as if he had bitten into something sour.
"Certainly not the rebels?" Paret breathed, his voice low. At my nod, he let out a long exhale and broke his posture. Propping his elbows up on his knees, he buried his face in his hands as Weblin cursed slowly under his breath.
"Do you have proof?"Disbelief warred with alarm in Weblin's voice.
"Emperor Palpatine and Lord Vader were confronted by the rebel Luke Skywalker, only Skywalker left according to…" I froze, realizing that using the word of a rebel was a bad idea. Sending a significant glance at Nereus and willing him to stay quiet, I continued, "Grand Admiral Osvald Teshik."
"By all the stars…" Parek groaned from behind his hands.
"Where is Admiral Teshik?" Weblin asked, letting go of his consorts and leaning forward to study me closer through the hologram, "Where is the rest of the Death Squadron? How are you here alone?!"
I sighed inwardly before setting into the story of my travels since Endor. I had to alter the story of what had happened at Wrath Station. Instead of Randd trying to conscript me, he let us go without issue but the presence of rebels forced my section to retreat back into the Moddell sector. Our arrival at Bakura meant Nereus could assist in the tale weaving, and over the next hour was covered the nearly two months since Endor. Weblin and Paret were a captive audience, asking questions when they arose but otherwise paying us their undivided attention.
"This is…" Weblin stopped, humming to himself for a moment before continuing, "I will find a way to communicate outside the Deep Core. The situation here now makes far more sense. Captain Tullius, Governor Nereus, you have my thanks for bringing this information to us. Please, take some time to rest and recuperate there on Black-15. You have full access to her facilities while your vessel is repaired. The slaves are also at your disposal."
Looking at the slaves at his sides, I was distinctly uninterested in whatever Weblin's idea of "disposal" meant. I bowed my head respectfully to him all the same. Weblin nodded to me before turning his gaze to Paret.
"Paret, ready the fleet. It is likely Black Fleet will be called to action at last."
"Yes, Governor," Paret rose to his feet and saluted, followed shortly by Nereus and I. The hologram flickered and Weblin left the three of us. Paret's expression was distant and unreadable. Nereus and I shared a glance and in a moment of growing kinship, nodded before making our way to leave.
"Ah, Captain," I froze and closed my eyes, "Sit. Governor, please, leave us. I have some more… strategic questions for the good Captain."
I turned to face Paret again, the intensity returning to the man's eyes threefold.
"Of course, Admiral," Nereus responded with a gruff tone. The door opened and closed, leaving me with Paret alone. The Admiral had reclaimed his seat, gesturing now back to the couch I had been sitting in. Once seated, Paret spoke again.
"Your story is quite fantastical, Captain Tullius. Indeed, had it not been for the corroboration from Nereus, I might have though you a deserter," The ease with which Paret discussed an execution-worthy crime most certainly did not put me at ease, but he continued, "Instead, I find myself in awe. You are a credit not just to your fleet, but the navy as a whole."
The change from threat to compliment left me feeling lost, but I straightened my back all the same and bowed my head.
"Thank you, Admiral-"
"We will have need of that courage and devotion in the coming months," Paret continued as if I hadn't spoken. He rose to his feet and began to walk around the room, eyes staring off into space as he spoke.
"The Emperor is dead, and without a clear line of succession, there will be a mad scramble to seize power by opportunistic governors and admirals. There will be a need for good and loyal officers of the Empire to step up and protect her from these would-be usurpers, as I'm sure you can agree."
"I am certain you are correct, Admiral," I agree mildly.
"Unfortunately, it is not just the exterior enemies that I fear threaten the sanctity of this Empire, but interior ones as well. It is the duty of the Imperial Navy to protect that sanctity and ensure that the Ruling Council represents the will of the late Emperor properly. Black Fleet, and Black Sword Command in its entirety, is positioned perfectly to ensure the stability and security - and the loyalty of the council," Paret turned to me now, eyes alight with a fanaticism not out of place in a COMPNOR official, "Captain Tullius, you are a survivor of Endor - No, a Hero of Endor, and it would be our honor for you to join your forces to ours as we march for Coruscant - to protect it as is our duty."
Oh no.
I smiled at the Admiral, hoping my terror and anger did not show.
"I would be honored, Admiral Paret, but my orders-"
"You will fulfill your orders, Captain. Better, you will be the vanguard of a fleet to preserve the Empire. How can anyone on Coruscant doubt your loyalty then?"
What I couldn't understand was why he needed me or my ships. Hero of Endor? What madness was that? Again, I could theorize. Perhaps he didn't want me to go ahead and warn Coruscant what was coming, and killing me would be a dangerous prospect. Granted, he was already planning to invade Coruscant - for all intents and purposes - but if the ISB started asking uncomfortable questions of his subordinates like "why did Paret murder an Imperial officer acting under Teshik's orders" Paret might have been on the fast track to becoming the very dissident he claimed to be fighting against.
"And Governor Weblin?"
"Weblin will follow, once he understands the necessity of this action. Otherwise, he will need to be… convinced of its efficacy."
I should have taken my chances at Bakura.
"By your orders, Admiral," Was what I said, rising to my feet and saluting. All the while, trying to plan a way to escape this madman and this blasted station.
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
Justice – Lancer-Class Frigate - Commander Titus
? – 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 - ?