Chapter 19
The Grand Commander
"Sir, is Agent Windsor unwell?"
I don't know…, "She'll be fine after some rest; everyone is worn down. For now, we must focus on making the jump to lightspeed."
"Yes, sir," Iona nods before approaching the communications station. She can't resist wincing in disgust at the state of the console. The defense station officer echoes her expression as she approaches the helm. After some hesitation, she clicks a few buttons and studies the response. Iona moves a little closer to him, then whispers. "How are you, sir?"
Frustrated. Angry. Disillusioned. Horrified at the state of the ship's forces. Speechless at the level of incompetence, and the gross negligence of the ship's command.
"I'm fine," he lies. "I'm thankful I'm out of that cell and back in service."
She stares a moment, before pursing her lips and returning her attention to the console. The commander isn't certain she knows he's lying but she's definitely suspicious.
"I didn't answer your question earlier." He recalls, whispering so the other woman can't hear. "You asked if I ever considered a coup. Yes, twice, but only for a split second. The first time when the admiral suggested it. Do you have any idea how many meaningless reports and requests we read in a day? I despise it. The second was when Keel stormed into Admiral Antonius quarters and declared Gary has…you know."
Iona closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, "Who else knows?"
"Command, but it won't stay there. You need to listen for provocateurs," he warns before returning to the original subject. "Their whining made me wonder, could I take the Undaunted? Rebuild from the ground up with Endor survivors at the core. Leave these blasted fools, it may take a generation or two, so what? The rebels rebuilt and returned, why can't we?"
Iona's eyes widen in shock and she remains silent for a long moment before declaring, "We were the Empire's finest on Endor. These people mean well, they're good imperials."
"That's what Keel said," the commander growls. "It's not enough to mean well or be good, we need victory. We must achieve success consistently."
"How," she pauses, approaching the subject cautiously. "…can we achieve it with the Admiral and the Inevitable, with all the issues we're currently facing?"
"The rebels began with isolated cells of separatists, which congealed into a cancer. Imperial culture outright opposes that, rules and structures, that's where our strength lies."
"You believe retraining will accomplish this?"
He looks at her and purses his lips, unseen behind his helmet but the young comm officer watches him closely. The Grand Commander knows she's intelligent, but also acutely observant.
He whispers, "No."
Iona recoils.
"You cannot retrain a bantha to be a hound. The training will help identify the leaders we need and discipline our forces. But most importantly, it will distract them. Rules and structures, we will start with small, surgical strikes. With each battle, we'll rebuild our confidence, and gather supplies. Success will lure what we need most of all, people."
"People?" A smile tickles the edge of her lips. "People like your pirate queen?"
"Very funny," the commander grumbles. "But…not completely incorrect; regrettably, she won't stay. We need leaders and fighters like her, who see opportunity with us. The Gordian Reach and the outer rim are full of rural and poor regions, desperate people looking to escape."
"Desperate, like us?"
"Yes, when they first arrive they may only want a full stomach and bed to sleep in. When they see what we've survived and overcome, it will encourage them. If we can, why not them?"
"Sir," she hesitates to point out. "What do we offer them besides hardship? …I mean, people need more than—faith. What can we offer them in exchange for their time, their lives?"
That's a good question, he admits. "I've served so long, I can't imagine anything else. You're correct, we need to offer them…opportunity. Training. Education."
"Structure and rules?"
"Yes, but to success not stagnation. Any brush pilot can bullseye womp rats, we'll teach them to fly TIEs and transports. If they prove themselves, we'll teach them to repair capital ships and helm them. We'll offer them a chance at a real career, even if they choose it elsewhere."
She nods considering his words for a long moment. Then she steels herself, "Thank you for confiding in me, sir. Now, you have to convince command."
He scoffs with a grunt, then notices the defense station officer peeking at them. "By the way, Iona, Captain Shilling's appraisal of you is quite high."
"I…understand if you have reservations about him," Iona replies diplomatically. "He is not a combatant but he is extremely knowledgeable, on a vast number of subjects."
"I'll take your word for it," he replies, then meets the defense station officer's eyes. "Excuse me, I haven't gotten your name yet."
"Chief Petty Officer Hark, sir," she replies.
"Chief Hark, Comm officer Constance," the commander meets their gazes one at a time. "It will take time before the Undaunted is worthy of Imperial hands, but I leave her to your worthy hands. The troopers hold engineering with a few techs, and an astromech is on its way to assist you. Two vipers and spacetroopers patrol the ship. I'll see you both on Yavin."
Both salute smoothly, and the commander departs.
Agent Windsor
In her private quarters, she rolls to her other side, finding sleep elusive.
Her quarters are spartan. It includes a desk, a personal data terminal, and a small bed with white sheets and a grey blanket. Her refresher is opposite the entrance. Windsor rolls onto her back and stares at the grey metal ceiling.
Nearby, IT-O hovers softly, watching her. Windsor had forgotten it was in the room, "Are you going to watch me sleep?"
"I will watch until you sleep," it replies flatly. "Per the commander's orders."
Windsor's anger flares, and she demands, "His orders supersede me?"
"Indisputably," it replies evenly. "The commander pointed a blaster at me on Endor, threatening to destroy me for disobeying him. My analysis of his voice, posture, and history leaves no room for doubt. Additionally, you had me inject him with a sedative before meeting the Inevitable. The commander does not forget or forgive but he may absolve it."
Windsor groans, "You can't be certain he knows you're the same droid."
"I am unwilling to take that chance."
Frustrated and a bit emasculated, Windsor rolls away from the droid and clenches her eyes shut. Yet her thoughts drift…aimless for a time until they settle on her return to the first operation. After they banished the Lt. Governor and executed his subordinates.
"I-I-I," the royal boy stutters.
"Spit it out," she growls from a safe distance, watching anonymously from the crowd with a few disguised guards. Only an hour ago, she had warned him, "I wrote your speech, you had better move me to tears, for your sake. Your Highness."
He licks his lips, "Anger is unavoidable when you feel un-unheard, when you feel wronged. We have suffered, we have lost and we grieve for the Highstones. If you must hate. Hate me, but do not seek violence. That path leads only to darkness and needless destruction."
The crowd seems unmoved—but, they are not shouting or cursing at him. It's incremental, but an opening, one he can use. An opportunity she can exploit.
"We will not slide into anarchy," the royal declares, voice growing steadier, more forceful with the silence. "Although I was a child during the Clone Wars, I remember its horrors. We cannot—no, MUST not repeat the mistakes of the past."
The crowd murmurs, agreeing with him. The war was not so long past at this point.
"I will not let this day be drenched in tragedy. The future of this royal family, of our world, is bright," the royal motions the young maiden to join him. She demurely approaches before curtsing to the amassed crowd, and gently placing her hand in his own. "For months, I have entertained marriage proposals. Before this tragedy, it mattered not whom I married, but as the heir of the throne. My choice not only reflects my future but the future of our world. Today, I am proud to announce my engagement to the princess. The union of our two families will bring vital resources and stability to this sector. I swear, as heir to the throne, I will bring prosperity-"
"Pretender!" Someone shouts from the crowd to a ring of gasps.
Agent Windsor's eyes dart towards the sound, and many within the crowd do the same. Security forces within the crowd swiftly begin moving in coordination. A cloaked and hooded figure points accusingly, "Traitor! Murderer! You poison the memory of the Highstones with your treachery! We will not forget your collusion with the Empire!"
Windsor would recognize that voice anywhere, the force of it but…that's impossible. The crowd's mood shifts immediately, drawn to the bold and passionate of the speaker.
The hooded figure looks at the security forces racing towards him through the crowd and yells, "For freedom! For the royal family! For a future free from the Empire!"
"Yeah!" A few rogues within the crowd yell, with more joining them. As the security closes in, the figure spins and flees. With startling speed, he deftly maneuvers through the friendly crowd as the security is blocked and slowed by them. Even as more security presses into the crowd, it's not enough, and suddenly the figure is gone with several men in pursuit.
"…it is easy to shout curses anonymously in a crowd," the princess declares to the people, distracted by the chase. The citizens look back at the royals, as hostile as they were in the beginning. Yet, to Windsor's surprise, they listen. "This is a world of builders. Words do not stoke furnaces, they do not turn the foundries, or replace the lost holidays and birthdays missed by long shifts. I am not one of you, for I was born into a life of privilege. You do not know me and that makes distrust the most natural reaction. All I ask is one chance. I will work for you. WE will EARN your trust, first as heirs, then as your royalty. My betrothed is right; the future is bright. Whether you join us there or remain mired in the tragic past, it is YOUR choice."
Windsor is flooded with relief and a touch of pride; she'd chosen an excellent candidate. Members of the crowd clap softly with a few cheers, the royal heirs bow to the people. Instantly, the crowd roars with approval, the cheering continues long after they leave the stage.
Windsor turns to her guard, "Did they catch him?"
The guard gives her a curt shake of the head when suddenly, someone bumps her.
Windsor's eyes jerk open. She rolls over, feeling the steady hum of hyperspace travel. She spots the IT-O droid resting on her desk, before a single flash of light circles its center.
"We've been at lightspeed for a short time. I believe we made a rough transition but by my calculations, we have a few more hours before arriving."
Windsor nods acknowledgment and tries to return to sleep.
Gary
Sitting on the rack with his meager belongings packed into a single bag. Gary can sense when the Grand Commander arrives in the cellblock. He can't explain how. He just—knows. A familiarity, like a smell or reassuring memory. It has that affect on him. Gary doesn't understand how he's so sure; suddenly, he is. The same certainty that he knows master sergeant Serrano stands by the door in the exact same pose when Gary settled onto the rack.
The commander arrives at the precipice of the steps leading into the cell. The Grand Commander offers the royal guard a nod, swirling with fury and anger. Gary knows he's furious. He knows the commander wants to scream and shout at him for making such a disastrous mistake, with so many consequences. Gary just sinks deeper into depression.
"I'm sorry."
The Grand Commander sighs, his anger fading, "I know but I have to punish you. I have to punish you in a way that leaves no doubt, that our relationship doesn't affect my judgment."
As the commander speaks, Gary dips further into darkness. Then a pauldron lands next to Gary, rolling on the rack. He looks at it in surprise, recognizing the red for squad leaders.
"You're promoting him?" Serrano asks.
"Wait, what?" Gary straightens up, staring at the commander.
"I'm glad you didn't unpack. Report to your new command, take stock, and prepare to train and lead them." The Commander announces, hands on his hips. "Congratulations."
"What?!" Gary can't believe his ears, yet he senses amusement in the commander.
"Who will Gary be leading?" Serrano asks.
"The hundred and eighty-first."
"Oh," Serrano replies flatly. "Congratulations."
Gary groans, "Whaaat?"
