Weiss
The amphitheater-style lecture hall was one of the oldest wings of the Royal Imperial Academy, a relic from the days of the Republic. It was resplendent, with high vaulted ceilings and polished permaglass panes that looked out over the shadowy sprawl of Imperial Center. Rows of tall archways split the space into segments, and repulsor-light fixtures hummed overhead, casting an ever-present white glow across slate-gray floors. Everything here had weight, history, tradition, and the unyielding pressure of expectation. In short, just what the Empire wanted to impart to its cadets.
Cadets filed into their assigned rows, uniforms crisp, movements practiced and smooth as silk as they sat down. The air in the room was dry, still, clinical, more akin to a mortuary than a lecture hall. Conversations were minimal, little more than mumbled acknowledgments and throat-clearings as people took their assigned seats. At the front of the hall stood Commandant Deenlark, as rigid and polished as the durasteel desk behind him. His silver beard, as usual, was trimmed sharp, and his blue eyes were colder than the void outside the window. The air in the room carried the same pressure as a sealed bulkhead. Weiss had known the Commandant since her first year here. She had not forgotten the cold scrutiny he had regarded her with the moment she introduced herself as a Schnee. Her Father's reputation was known far and wide, and rarely it was for the better.
Deenlark was a veteran of the Clone Wars, one of the first to swear loyalty to the Emperor when the Republic fell. He'd been granted a rare honor, a simple golden pin on his uniform, marking him as one of the first ten thousand who had sworn loyalty to the Emperor. Unlike many who had capitalized on that transition for power, Deenlark seemed to hold no illusions about what the Empire stood for. He believed in structure, hierarchy, and the cold necessity of war, it made him dangerous but also honest, in a grim sort of way. All of which made him very unimpressed by her Father, and many of her classmates at times.
"Cadets." He said without preamble. Everyone straightened up as he spoke, their eyes fixated on his face. His voice carried easily throughout the room, despite being spoken at a normal volume, a quirk of the room's audio design. "Today we will be examining the Doctrine of Fear, and why it remains the Empire's preferred answer to rebellion."
A flick of his fingers activated the holoprojector mounted above the podium, which whirred to life. A rotating wireframe appeared, depicting a Republic-era convoy, civilian transports escorted by Acclamator-class cruisers, ambushed by a Separatist fleet composed of Munificent-class frigates and Vulture droids. She recognized some of the transport designs, some L-6s, an HWK-290, and even an ancient Dynamic-class from her lessons.
"During the final phase of the Clone Wars, the Republic suffered unacceptable attrition from disorganized response patterns." Commandant Deenlark continued, in his usual tone, as he flicked his fingers again.
The simulation ran. A series of red indicators, enemy fighters, swarmed the slow-reacting Republic vessels who sluggishly attempted to counter the attackers. Turbolaser fire filled the void between ships, but the response was chaotic, almost as if there was no overall formation commander. One of the Acclamators exploded, while another veered off course, colliding with a hapless L-6, which exploded into a mess of twisted metal. She saw a few V-19s launching from the surviving Acclimators, and even one from an L-6, but they were set upon by a veritable swarm of droid fighters and were rapidly overwhelmed. Blue lights, denoting friendly losses, blinked out rapidly, until it was nothing but red lights and the shattered hulks of the convoys. Here and there, small escape pod lights blinked before being snuffed out.
Weiss's eyes never left the feed as she watched the carnage. She remembered watching similar footage at Atlas Academy, sometimes on the attacker's end, other times on the defender's. Her instructors had shown them different angles, encouraged analysis, not just of the tactics used, but of the broader failures in leadership and coordination. Watching it again under Deenlark's lens made it feel different, sterile, and detached. The cost in lives wasn't even a factor here, which could be argued was due to the scale at times. What was a dozen or so lives in the grand scheme of things?
"Modern doctrine has since shifted to reflect Imperial realities. No longer do we concern ourselves with discretion or diplomacy where insurrection is present." Deenlark said coldly, and flicked his fingers again.
Another overlay appeared. The same convoy, now with an escort of Victory-class Star Destroyers, entered the same ambush. Instead of confusion, they fanned out into a tight, rotating wedge. A swarm of TIE fighter icons streamed out of the Victories and rapidly began furballing with the Vultures. Those that escaped the TIE attackers were destroyed in synchronized bursts of flak fire, and enemy frigates were surrounded and disabled. Before long, it was almost a mirror image of what had happened with the initial convoy, only with the colors swapped.
"Rapid overkill response." Deenlark said, gesturing to the clean path cleared by the Destroyers, which moved on, the convoy having barely slowed down, even while under attack. "Local superiority secured in less than four minutes."
His gaze swept the rows of cadets, daring one of them to answer the question he posed. "Why did the Republic fail?"
Weiss's hand rose immediately, precise and confident. She'd been expecting something like this, and had been thinking about it all throughout the demonstration.
"Senior Cadet Schnee," He called.
Weiss stood, her petite figure somehow feeling like ten meters tall around all the sitting classmates of hers. Her voice was calm, controlled, every syllable clear, drawing on her allucation lessons. "Sir, because the Republic's structure relied on decentralized command and overly cautious engagement protocols. Their attempt to preserve infrastructure and public opinion created exploitable delays in response and coordination."
Deenlark nodded, a short, brisk acknowledgement of her statement. "Correct. The Empire, by contrast, understands the nature of fear. Victory is maintained through clarity of purpose and brutality in action, as dictated in the Doctrine of Fear, authored by Grand Moff Tarkin."
She sat back down, keeping her posture straight. No one whispered or added any additional comments, she didn't expect them to. The silence that followed was as satisfying as applause. The cadet beside her shifted slightly, likely unnerved by the exchange. She didn't look, it didn't matter.
For the next forty minutes, Deenlark walked the class through multiple scenarios. Each one detailed failures in discipline, in initiative, or in chain-of-command integrity. One simulation showed a captain hesitating to fire on a fleeing civilian ship suspected of carrying rebels. That hesitation cost two Star Destroyers, the civilian ship had been taken over by terrorists and turned into a bomb which had detonated once the two Star Destroyers had immobilized it with their tractor beams. Weiss didn't wince like some of the younger cadets. She knew that war left no room for idealism. Especially not a war against Rebels, many of whom had been Separatists before losing the conventional war, and instead switching to terrorist tactics.
Another simulation followed, this time a blockade scenario. A cluster of rebel ships attempted to run the line, using older models retrofitted with stealth plating. Several cadets raised ideas for identifying ship silhouettes or analyzing thruster variance. They weren't bad, she'd grant them that, there was a time for gathering information, but sometimes an example needed to be set for all to see. Weiss kept her notes precise as she absorbed, her eyes never leaving Deenlark's face. The answer was always the same, detection, disablement, and destruction. There was also the occasional capture, so they could gather more information, though that duty belonged to the ISB.
Weiss noted how the command structure rerouted attention, how flanking elements compensated for sensor blind spots, sending out probes or fighters to scout known blind spots. She knew what the instructors would be watching for in the final exercise, decisiveness.
The final simulation displayed a blockade formation collapsing under pressure as some Rebel forces attempt at starving a world into submission were crushed by a wedge of Imperial Star Destroyers smashing into their feeble defensive formation and ripping it apart. The cadet who attempted to suggest a more diplomatic opening maneuver was promptly shut down by Deenlark.
"Compromise is not a principle of war." He snapped. "It's an invitation to defeat."
Weiss found herself nodding, it was a fair point. She thought of Winter, of her father's scorn when she first chose the Academy over direct appointment as a junior senator. She would show them both that they underestimated her. While Winter had been supportive, she'd tried to ensure Weiss served under her command, which Weiss had rejected. Her discipline, her skill, her commitment to the ideals of order, those were the things that would elevate her beyond her name.
Her datapad buzzed with a message:
Squad Command Assignment: Senior Cadet Schnee
Tactical Liaison Assignment: Cadet Belladonna
Simulation Assignment: The rescue of hostages taken by Black Sun Pirates.
Her jaw tightened, she didn't flinch, but internally, she was already reassessing her plans for the day in response to the news. She knew the name. Belladonna had transferred in from an Outer Rim Academy with that Dolt and her brute sister. Some claimed she had political ties, others, that she was just another scholarship hopeful from some backwater world.
It didn't matter, if Belladonna was to be her tactical liaison for the joint simulation later today, Weiss would make sure the exercise was executed flawlessly, and that her partner understood exactly who was in command. A Schnee would do nothing less than excellent, and she wasn't about to break her streak of successes.
After dismissal, Weiss remained seated a few moments longer. She liked to let the room empty out before rising, not for dramatic effect but to maintain a sense of control. Cadets hurried to their next assignments, talking in hushed voices as they left. Deenlark had exited almost immediately, as he always did.
Weiss gathered her datapad, smoothing the creases in her uniform with her other hand as she did so. The message from Deenlark's aide still lingered on the screen.
Tactical Liaison: Belladonna.
She would need to read up on her partner, in order to figure out her next move. Names were data, and data was an advantage, and she'd need every advantage she could get. All she knew about the ab-human were her cat ears that marked her as filthy. If Deenlark wanted her to lead, Weiss would lead as was fitting her position and social rank. She would be better than any cadet before her. And if Belladonna proved to be a weakness, then Weiss would either correct her failings, or discard her.
The Empire did not allow weaknesses.
Blake
The Royal Imperial Academy's library occupied an entire floor of the southern tower, with silvery shelves stacked floor-to-ceiling in perfect columns, each row patrolled by scanning beams and passive surveillance droids masquerading as archivists. No cadet lingered here for leisure, every breath inside was monitored, every data request logged.
Blake stepped inside with practiced calm, looking ever so much like a regular Imperial cadet. Her black cadet cap was tilted forward to shadow her amber eyes beneath the brim, and the false ID chip hidden in her boot would keep her real name buried behind three layers of Alliance encryption. Her datapad, freshly cleaned and running Imperial-firmware facades, pulsed softly against her palm.
She passed rows of reading booths and narrow staircases until she reached the tier-three archives. Her boots echoed faintly against the polished floor, rhythm steady, unhurried. Inside, beneath a white arch labeled Tactical Drills and Simulations, she found the terminal she was looking for.
The touch interface blinked to life as she awakened it. Blake keyed in her access credentials, the alphanumeric combination denoting all she was to the Empire, just another cog in the machine. There was a pause, a little too long for her taste, and then the interface accepted her submission. Five scenario packets downloaded to her device, command chain failures, response to rebel cell sabotage, and sieging a rebel compound. Totally normal stuff for a cadet to need to know if she was asked.
She copied them all, discreetly and efficiently.
The rhythm of espionage was second nature now to her. She'd been running operations since she was a child, her first assignments little more than courier drops or recording troop movements while masquerading as a curious child excited by the soliders marching by her window. The Academy was a much harder assignment, but also the most rewarding. One wrong move here could bring the entire White Fang company down in flames, but it was also the best opportunity they'd had in years.
And she wasn't about to waste it. Not after so many had died or been burned to ensure she had this much access
Blake glanced around the reading booth, double-checked for camera angles or nearby droids, then slid the datapad back into her satchel. Now that the hard part was over, she just had to exfiltrate, burn the data onto a chip, and wait for a dead drop opportunity.
"Hey there," said a soft voice beside her.
Blake flinched internally, but didn't show it. Her body pivoted slowly to look at where the noise had come from.
Velvet Scarlatina stood in the adjacent aisle, holding a bundle of data-manuals in her hands. She smiled shyly, which put Blake instantly on guard. "Didn't mean to startle you. Just grabbing some materials before Bly drills us again."
Blake nodded once, and tried to calm her heart from pounding like a drum. It was just Velvet, a fellow Faunus. A loyal Imperial would be glad to see someone she could relate to. "Same."
"You're Belladonna, right? We're in the same bunks!"
"Blake." She nodded, there wasn't any point in trying to conceal that information. "I believe we are." So the Pet didn't recognize her despite being their guide on day one? Or was she trying to feel her out, to see what she was up to? Velvet had said nothing when she first saw Blake's ears, even when the rest of their bunkmates whispered.
"Velvet." The rabbit Faunus offered her a hand. Blake took it out of obligation, not warmth. "Mind if I sit with you?"
"Sure." Blake said, a little begrudgingly, as she pointed to one of the nearby reading booths that wasn't too occupied.
They sat down at it, with a handful of other cadets spread around, doing their own studying. Velvet began spreading out a handful of training schematics on the table in front of them. "I've been going through alternate response scenarios. Do you have a favorite?"
Blake feigned interest, but perked her ears up a tad. Maybe she could gather some less dry information out of this? "I prefer counter-flanking, collapse maneuvers."
Velvet nodded, humming. "I like precise breaching plans, getting in and out fast. There's less room for civilian casualties that way."
That caught Blake's attention, though she didn't show it externally. Granted, all it would mean is she was a Pet who had a heart, but she couldn't help but consider. What if Velvet was like her, only never having been given a chance to reach out?
They studied in silence, broken only by the chirp of them changing pages as they progressed through the materials. Blake couldn't help glancing at Velvet's ears. Unhidden. Proud. And no one gave her a second glance. Passing cadets barely even noticed her ears, and nobody gave her grief or anything for them. Had the Empire really changed that much, or was this an illusion they were all playing into? Or was there some other reason?
"If you don't mind me asking," Velvet hesitated for a second, but then pressed on. "Where are you from?"
Blake considered lying. She was supposed to say Chandrila, but something in Velvet's tone sounded genuine.
"Menagerie," Blake said quietly, to not draw the attention of any passers-by, but knowing Velvet could hear her easily. "Originally."
Velvet's ears twitched, as she digested the words. "My family's from there too, before the Clone Wars."
Blake didn't know how to respond to that. Granted, expecting to learn Velvet was a Menagerie ex-pat wasn't what she had envisioned learning today.
Some movement caught her eye, outside the booth, off in the distance. A pair of Naval officers walked past the viewport, and one stopped to look in their direction.
Blake stopped breathing, as her fists clenched, starting to leave impressions in the datapad casing. Was she about to be made? The other officer nudged his comrade's shoulder, and they moved on.
Velvet continued reading, not worrying in the slightest, confident she was safe.
Blake exhaled slowly, as she began calming down. Her fingers loosened their deathgrip on the datapad as she did so.
"You alright?" Velvet asked, glancing up from her material.
Blake smiled, plastering a fake grin on her face to avoid answering questions. "Fine."
Blake returned to her datapad, closing the propaganda masquerading as history she'd been allegedly studying. She opened one of the packets she'd copied, the Imperial doctrine on how to lay siege to rebelling planets. The information would prove useful, so they could form counterplans against the Empire, and to potentially invade their own.
Velvet tapped the side of her own terminal. "You're really focused. Are you aiming for a command?"
Blake shook her head in response to the question. "Stormtrooper track, combat and boarding specialization." The command track would draw far too much attention to her, better to shoot to be one of the faceless grunts in the background everyone pretended were just part of the scenery.
Velvet tilted her head with a small smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Strange. You don't strike me as the type who wants to follow orders blindly."
That earned a slight twitch of Blake's lips and cat ears atop her head hidden beneath her cap. "I don't."
"Then why join the Corps?" Velvet asked, a valid question, Blake had to admit.
Blake debated her answer. Obviously, the truth was right out, but she had to make her answer believable. "Because people like me don't get to ask questions. We learn the rules so we can survive them."
Velvet smiled again, more curious than she was before. Shit. "Well, you'll find out plenty here."
Blake pocketed the datapad, she'd seen enough, and if she had to read more propaganda or clinical discussion of 'inflicting casualties on enemy noncombatants to break their morale', she would break someone's face.
"I should go." She said, standing up slowly and stretching as she did so. "Meeting with my squad lead for the simulation."
"Of course." Velvet stood as well, smoothing out a wrinkle in her uniform as she did so. "It was nice talking with you."
Blake nodded, adjusting her black cap ever so slightly to account for her ear movements. "You too."
She turned without another word and left the archives, powerwalking through the halls as she did so. The lie about her squad lead would buy her time, and she needed every minute she could get before the simulation. Blake needed to find out everything she could about her new commander for the test.
Weiss Schnee.
The name alone was enough to tighten the knot in her stomach. Blake returned to her dorm briefly. The halls outside were filled with cadets moving in pairs, and the occasional instructor, and she offered polite nods to anyone who acknowledged her. Her hands never once strayed from her datapad, with its precious cargo. Inside her bunk, the door hissed shut and silence took hold again. Nobody was in yet, and she was going to make the most of it.
Blake sat at her desk and began scrolling through the internal Academy student registry. Most cadets didn't realize how much public-facing data was kept unguarded, and what one could glean from it. She didn't need access to command logs, just bios, cadet postings, and class standing. That alone would be enough to formulate a strategy.
Weiss Schnee, part of the Royal line from Atlas in the Solitas System. She had top marks in every combat and strategic theory course, but her social rank made that judgement questionable. Praised by instructors, she was cold and aloof to her fellows. No known allies except for a few privileged cadets, whose connections made her untouchable on top of her already existing Royal nature. She had served as squad commander for three semesters, placing in the top of the ranking each time. Notably, her senior cadet certification had been delayed by one term due to what was referred to as a "disruption in command structure."
Blake bookmarked the details, of which there were scant few. That meant some kind of fallout, internal politics, maybe. Not enough to break her record, but enough to leave a crack. And Blake knew very well that cracks could be exploited.
Blake closed the file and looked at the chrono, time was starting to run out. She had to be ready to meet Weiss face to face soon to plan their strategy. Blake stared at her reflection in the mirror that sat on her small desk. Her hat was still in place, hiding her ears. The image of an Imperial cadet stared back, uniform pristine, eyes unreadable.
Let the Empire see what they wanted.
Behind the mask, Blake Belladonna was preparing for war.
A/N
Updated in honor Andor Season 2.
Night_Stalker: And before anyone asks, no, that isn't the Ebon Hawk. Same class, different ship.