Chapter 22

Agent Windsor

The first rumbling of the Inevitable barely awakens Ecaterina Windsor. She rolls over in her bed, suffering a headache and a dry mouth. Her simple rack provides little comfort besides what's necessary. Frustrated, she pulls at her blanket, but it stubbornly remains stuck beneath her. Growling with irritation, she yanks again and again, but it resists her feeble pulls.

At first, she doesn't understand why her bed is so hard or why she feels awful. A cloud muddles her sluggish and unresponsive mind. Try as she might, she cannot clear it. Everything returns to her at a crawl: the Inevitable, the commander…the Grand Commander, and the state of the Empire. He ordered her to bed, blast him! He's right again, and she hates him for it, not out of jealousy or pettiness. No, she hates the ease of his transition from prisoner to leader.

Is he angry about his imprisonment or not? How can he ignore that negligence, or can he hide his feelings that well? Bantha poo-doo! She can't understand why he isn't furious. Curse his fidelity, his stalwart nature, his stoicism. Is asking him to lose his temper or raise his voice too much? Yes, he resisted initially, but now he's seamlessly reworking the Inevitable. Yes, she admits in frustration, his plans are good, and his judgment remains as sharp as a razor…

Then what am I angry about? Agent Windsor wonders. Am I jealous? No. No…no, no!

Did I want him to overthrow the inept admiral and captain? …maybe. Why didn't he seize command as he did on Endor? Lord Dyer wasn't inept; he betrayed us, betrayed me after General Syndulla's attack. Admiral Antonius and Captain Shilling are loyal…but ineffectual.

The Inevitable shakes so violently it nearly throws her from her small bed.

"BATTLESTATIONS, ALL FORCES TO BATTLESTATIONS!" The intercom blares as lights flicker, dim, and blink.

What? Her stomach somersaults, drawn simultaneously at an erroneous angle and to the deck plating. We're in a gravity well. Why are we in a gravity well? What is happening?

She pulls on her blanket aside but it refuses. In a rush, she tries to stand, but the blanket wraps her feet. Her sleepy brain can barely comprehend what is happening, and she begins falling out of bed. She puts her hands out but lands hard, her hips slipping off the rack and slamming into the cold deck plating. The metal is merciless. Windsor lies motionless, trying to comprehend how she ended up there.

With a soft hum, the IT-0 rises from her desk and floats closer, hovering menacingly. The black orb is threatening by design, with its single light encircling it. It's a cold, precise, and merciless torturer. The thought initiates a panic; she's completely helpless and unarmed.

"Your vital readings are wildly unstable and irregular," the interrogation droid states.

"I didn't ask your opinion," she snaps, trying to unwind herself from her blanket. Struggle as she might, she cannot escape. Somehow, her blanket tied into a knot. The IT-0 dips closer. She waves it away, angrily yelling, "What are you doing? I can do it!"

A single manipulator clamp emerges from the orb, amplifying her panic. She jerks and twists, fighting to escape the blanket. The manipulator emits a metallic clank as he moves closer to her legs. A feral sound escapes from Windsor's lips. Her heart races as she fights intensely to emerge from the binding cloth. Steady as a metronome, the torture droid's manipulator clanks. Clank. Clank. Clank.

With one last clank, the manipulator clamp seizes the blanket and drags it off, freeing her.

"I didn't ask for your help," she says defensively.

The droid watches her before stating, "I have concerns."

"I didn't ask for them either," she replies as she rises to her feet and shuffles over to the mirror. The cold decking stings her feet as she turns on the water and begins washing her face. The water moistens her skin and hair and shocks her enough to make her think straight. Instead of using a cup, she drinks deeply from the faucet. When did I become a savage? She knows why her mind struggles but refuses to think about it. Instead, she swiftly puts on her uniform. In her pocket from yesterday, her hand unconsciously wraps around the battlestim.

Suddenly, her anxiety disappears. Her medical training warns what that means.

No, this is a temporary remedy. With the commander free, I won't be in a perpetual state of damage control. I've got this. If I hold out a little longer, these issues will pass. I'm in control.

Squeezing the battlestim one more time, she squares away her uniform. Then she pulls her hair back into a tight ponytail and scrubs her face again. This time, she uses shocking cold water, almost painfully cold, centering herself and bringing back acute focus. She reexamines herself in the mirror one last time, pulling a single rogue hair with a sharp yank.

With the IT-0 droid in her wake, she marches to the nearest turbolift and rides it to the bridge. She passes through the security foyer, then the doors onto the bridge.

"Nice of you to join us, Agent Windsor," Admiral Antonious scolds her as she enters. Standing beside him, Captain Shilling smirks at the reprimand.

"My apologies, sir. I didn't predict a rogue planet in our path," she hisses. "After all, we'd agreed to jump to the system's edge; yet here we are plunging into an atmosphere."

"What's done is done," the admiral growls. "We're at Yavin IV and descending rapidly."

"Curious, that," Windsor scoffs at his dismissal, glancing at a terminal with the ship's status. "Main engines failing, multiple thrusters down. What is our plan to avoid a fiery death?"

"The commander's pirate suggested we use the planet's gravity and the Undaunted's tractor beams to push us through the atmosphere," Captain Shilling details. "It's ridiculous."

Windsor stares at the damage report, her vision distorts as the many lights blur into a single blob. She blinks rapidly, then shakes her head, barely clearing her distraction. Her hand tightens around the battlestim.

"Agent Windsor!" Admiral Antonious snaps. When she turns to scowl at him, he glares back at her, adding. "I asked you a question."

"Again, my apologies, admiral," she hisses his title. She hadn't heard his question; I didn't hear anything! Her mind wandered again; desperately, she deflects. "I was distracted by the widespread damage to our engines and thrusters from the ill-decided jump to Yavin."

"It's not my fault!" Captain Shilling whines predictably.

"If we had arrived at the edge of the system, we could have repaired it, sent scouts to investigate the system, and secured the landing site. Now, we've blundered in like a bantha."

"Enough bickering!" He snaps. "I will not tolerate my officers quarreling like children!"

Windsor casually points out the viewport, flames dancing on the ship's bow, and Yavin IV racing to meet them. "Soon, it may not matter what you'll tolerate, sir."

The admiral grits his teeth irritably before barking, "Do you think the plan will work? We're on the heading of 1-1-5, but my gut says it's not enough."

"I don't know," she considers it, but the fire spreading across their bow mesmerizes her. She shoves it aside as she asks, "Who did the computations?"

"I did, ma'am," a technician stands to speak with her.

Agent Windsor studies the woman, "Do you have flight training? Did you include wind resistance and drag from the precipitation in the atmosphere?"

"No, I do not have flight training. Nor did I anticipate those factors."

Agent Windsor nods while suddenly wondering, where do I find that information? The ISB agent realizes she should know exactly where to find it. My mind is blank. Glaring at the tech, she uses her as a distraction, snarling, "This is basic knowledge of a vessel's passage through an atmosphere! We'll have to recalculate the approach and pray we can adjust in time."

Yet, she still couldn't remember. Her hand tightens around the stim, and an idea pops in.

"I'll return momentarily," she walks swiftly towards the doors. The IT-0 follows her.

"You're leaving?" Shilling demands. "Where are you going?"

The Admiral also looks appalled. Windsor counters dryly, "Even I cannot calculate our trajectory off the top of my head. I'm going to the Ship's Information Center. They'll analyze the factors and update our route quicker than we can. Then, I'll return and take the helm."

"Agreed," the admiral nods, pretending to retain control of the situation. His shock wears off as he considers her plan. "Thank you, Agent Windsor."

She cannot remember a single compliment or acknowledgement from him, ever. She maintains her blank expression, studying him for deception or sarcasm and detects none.

"Yes, sir," she replies evenly before she continues.

Once she's through the doors, IT-0 states, "Masterfully done."

She scowls at it as she moves quickly through the security foyer with communication terminals and holonet pod. The tech at the comm terminal doesn't look up, not out of disrespect but because her position requires absolute concentration.

Beyond the foyer, the officer's meeting room sits to her left, and the Ship's Information Central is on her right. The doors don't open automatically; the room contains critical data and classified Imperial records. She punches in her code and then inserts her code cylinder. The door beeps acceptance, then slides open. A pair of grey uniformed officers glance at her with flat eyes. Then, they return their attention to the consoles.

"How can we help you?" The closest one inquires with a flat tone. Agent Windsor wants to snap at him but recognizes the AJ6 cyborg construct. The grey, metallic, semi-circle device is attached to the back of his shaved head. Her stomach roils at the sight of his cybernetics, but she suppresses it. It dramatically increases his intellect and interaction with computer systems. Unfortunately, the implant also overwrites their personality. With their minds constantly racing, they find it difficult to talk to anyone who doesn't think so swiftly.

They sacrificed their humanity for the Empire, tragic yet admirable.

"I need a new calculation on the Inevitable's trajectory through the atmosphere to escape the gravitational pull. Include all possible factors that would affect it, the current status of the engines and thrusters, with the Undaunted pushing with its tractor beams."

Both stiffen before looking to see if she's joking. When they realize she isn't, he motions to the second, "Confirm my variables, add a search of likely anomalies, and verify my solution."

"Don't forget about atmospheric precipitation and wind shear," she specifies.

Identically they pause and look at her as if she's a fool. "Obviously."

Windsor wants to scold them, reminding them of her rank and position, but stops herself. It would only waste time we don't have. Her hand tightens around the battlestim again. She ignores the feeling and refocuses her mind. The control consoles! That's where I could have retrieved the information. But she wonders, could I have made the computations?

The lead cyborg says, "You must adjust immediately to heading 1-2-1.3. I'm required to warn you there is only a twenty-three point 7949 to infinity percent chance of success."

"Connect with the bridge, I want updates while I'm at the helm. At the same time, I want your comrade to connect with the Undaunted. They'll need different adjustments for their route in the Inevitable's draft. There's a comm tech named Iona Constance. She will manage the rest."

"Yes, agent Windsor," they reply together.

Can I take the helm like this? Her hands begin shaking, and her stomach sinks as she exits the room. Fortunately, it's empty up to the security foyer before the actual bridge. Windsor licks her lips. They need me to handle the helm, and I cannot risk another bout of brain fog. Not when I'm helming the ship and risking every life aboard!

She looks at the stim. Just one more, that's it, after this we'll land and I can rest. Her heart beats excitedly. She licks her lips again, her mouth dry and her hands shaking with anticipation. Her eyes dart around, ensuring she's alone and unseen. Only her IT-0. A single communication tech sits in the security foyer, working at her consoles. Agent Windsor exhales a ragged breath as her hand darts up to her neck, injecting the stim.

Instantly, her heart thunders in her chest. The fog that plagued her disappears, and the headache (from dehydration) fades into the background. Windsor regains her ability to think clearly. Her eyes dart around, searching for potential witnesses but finds none.

"If you ever speak of this to anyone," Windsor threatens. "I'll have you disintegrated."

"Your vital readings have stabilized," it drones. "For now."

I'll have to wipe its memory, but later, if we survive. She clenches her teeth and crosses the security foyer back to the bridge.

"The techs from the information central have contacted us with your new heading," the admiral informs her.

"With your permission, I'll take the helm, sir," she says professionally.

"Go ahead," he motions to the crew pit. Immediately, the helmsman vacates his position.

"Stay," she points at the nearby console. "I can't pilot, communicate with the Undaunted, and receive the updates simultaneously. Feed me updates while watching the ship's status and power migration per instructions from the Information central.

"Yes, ma'am," the technician replies.

Shilling asks, "Sir, with your permission, I'll order the crew to vacate nonessential areas and cut power to them. The additional power may make the difference."

A sneer dies on her lips, and she admits it's a good idea. Antonius says, "Very well."

"I'll handle the power migration and adjustments from the info center," Shilling announces. Then sits at the third console in the crew pit. Although Windsor's focus is on her console, the captain swiftly assumes control and expertly manages the system. Within moments, fluctuating power stabilizes and begins flowing consistently.

It tastes sour in her mouth, but she compliments him, "Well done, captain."

"I don't like you or the commander," he replies. "But I'll do anything for this ship."

"Steady now," Admiral Antonius urges them. "The Undaunted is pulling aft."

"This is the Undaunted. We're in the pocket," Iona announces, broadcast through the comms. "The Inevitable's draft is minimizing drag and the crosswinds."

"Admiral Antonius," the Grand Commander calls over the comms, "Request permission to drop the assault team from the main shuttlebay instead of an escape pod. The team can't fit into one pod. Additionally, Captain Wyndt offered to act as close air support."

Admiral Antonius swiftly walks to the rear of the bridge. Windsor's mind races, considering the commander's proposal. She warns, "If the commander launches, even with the ship so close, he'll be detected by even a cursory scan."

The admiral nods, "My thoughts exactly. Relay the information to him."

The technician nods and echoes her warning, then the tech says, "He's not launching them. He's going to drop them from the tractor beam. They'll tumble until they reach a lower orbit. On scans, they'll look like debris falling from the ship. Then, the shuttle will land beyond the scavenger's camp at the old rebel hideout."

"Agent Windsor?" The Admiral calls.

Her mind races, calculating the chances, then she asks. "Who's piloting the shuttle?"

"Lt. Verdan," the tech replies.

The obvious question is, why wouldn't Captain Wynd fly the shuttle? He's the best.

"Why isn't Captain Wynd flying?" The admiral inquires, echoing Windsor's thoughts.

"Verdan is a space-baby," Shilling replies. "-from a prominent Corellian family. She has extensive engineering experience. She flew shuttles before joining the Imperial Academy."

A gentle tremor passes through the decking. Turbulence from the atmosphere pushes the ship off its trajectory, forcing her to increase power to the port thrusters to maintain their heading. Fire spreads along the starboard side as the oxygen molecules burn against the shields. Windsor warns, "Prepare for connection with the Undaunted."

The Inevitable shudders forcing the crew to seize their consoles. Then the Undaunted shoves them forward through the atmosphere. The admiral punches a button on his gravchair, causing it to lock in place, and the 21-B droid grabs the handle to stabilize itself. As gravity and their drives combine to accelerate the Star Destroyer, everyone on the bridge leans back before the ship's inertial dampeners compensate.

"Inform the Undaunted to keep an eye on internal scanners," Windsor gestures sharply at the helmsman. "That ship is hardly up to imperial standards; this will put immense stress on her."

"Yes, ma'am," he replies.

The ship rattles violently, causing the bow to jump, and everyone on the bridge gasps. Agent Windsor calls, "Reinforce bow shields, cut wherever you can, and close all bulkheads ahead of the crew sections midship. The stress on the bow is reaching critical levels. The bulkheads will minimize the spread of damage and harden the ship's structure."

"That'll trap hundreds in the bow," Shilling warns. "Sir, they can't reach escape pods-"

"Do it!" Admiral Antonius cuts him off, then hits a button on his chair. The boatswain blares through the intercoms across the ship, including the bridge. "All hands, brace for turbulence. If possible, secure yourself in a shelter. If not, shelter in place until we've escaped."

"Admiral," a tech calls. "Our scout team has landed."

"Excellent! Agent Windsor," the admiral calls. "What's our status?"

"We're less than thirty percent through, sir," she replies coldly. She quickly glances at him, and his brow furrows, staring intently at her before a flickering look at the bridge. Windsor swallows her concerns as the ship is rocked by turbulence. It takes all her strength to hold onto the console. Her co-helmsman falls, banging his head against the crewpit panel. Shilling collapses. Blood trickles from her co-helmsman as both men struggle back to their stations. Windsor knows the admiral wasn't asking, he needed to reinforce the bridge crew's morale. "We'll make it, sir; the ship's been through worse, and few build ships as well as Kaut Drives."

"I never doubted it," the admiral declares firmly. "Steady on, Inevitable."

The Grand Commander

"These people are not our enemies, nor are they rebels."

"So?" One scout grumbles. "They're in our way, and it's easier to waste them."

"You're off the team," the Grand Commander points directly at the scout who spoke.

"What? You can't do that to me! I fought on the pirate ship beside you!" The scout snaps, looking around, then pleading with his officer. "He's not even a member of the Inevitable!"

"He's the Grand Commander," the scout officer rebukes. "Turn in your scout armor within the hour and report to the brig for discipline before you're transferred to another squad."

Every trooper in the main shuttlebay freezes, even those not a part of the briefing. The scout stumbles back as if struck, tripping over his own feet before falling to the decking. Not a single trooper moves to help him. Instead, a hole opens up around him, and the troopers around him stand still as statues.

He is utterly alone.

The commander and the scout officer glare mercilessly at the no-longer scout until he climbs to his feet. He half-turns and pauses, glaring at them.

"You want more?" The scout officer speaks, and the Grand Commander remains silent. "Speak, trooper, and you'll spend the rest of your service as a technician."

He stiffens, then he removes his helmet and marches to the armory nearby.

"Arg!" Moira whispers from next to the commander. "You're cold."

"As I was saying," the commander ignores her. "These are not rebels or separatists. They live here, and no one appreciates soldiers seizing their home without warning."

"Sir," a scout timidly raises his hand.

"Speak freely, trooper."

"The other guy spoke freely, and you crushed him," Moira says bluntly.

The commander holds up a hand to pause the trooper, but explains loudly so all can hear, "He lost his armor because he lost his bearing. A good soldier follows orders. Sometimes those orders are clear, sometimes they're conflicting, and sometimes command is full of idiots."

A soft chuckle passes through the troopers, better than the commander expected under the circumstances. The commander points at the trooper with a question.

"Sir, why aren't we just seizing the base and dealing with the consequences later?"

"We've been through a lot, all of us. It will get harder, and we will face worse. I'll speak more on that later. For now, I choose the scouts because you're disciplined and capable of restraint. These scavengers aren't our enemy. They may even help us with intel or repairs. We know preciously little about this region. They can't do that if they're dead.

"I choose the scouts because this isn't the time for hammers, for our stormtroopers. These aren't soldiers, but they live here, so don't expect them to be pushovers. Don't kill unless you must." The commander motions to a nearby Viper, who emits a holographic display. "They have five B1s they're using as laborers and three people. That's eight in total. The viper's signal is clear; you can get updates constantly, and he hasn't been detected. Be smart, be careful, and listen to your lieutenant-"

The ship shudders suddenly, causing the commander to put out his hands for balance. Moira shows no difficulty, smirking at him.

"Go!" He orders. "Get to your shuttle!"

The troopers rush aboard as their commander salutes him, which he returns crisply, then the lieutenant rushes aboard. Captain Wyndt climbs aboard his TIE Interceptor, and another pilot he recognizes from Endor boards his TIE fighter. Despite his anxieties and concerns, the commander neatly folds his hands behind his back and presents complete calm. Then the tractor beam seizes the shuttle and pushes it out the bay doors in the floor before releasing it into the atmosphere. Moments later, both the TIEs join it.

Although he senses it slowly, he can feel the tremor rising from the deck plating.

"Good, with a little time," Moira comments. "We'll make a proper sailor out of you."

He doesn't reply, instead waiting impatiently. The tremor grows as the turbulence fights against the Inevitable's passage. The vessel jumps as it struggles to survive.
"Sir!" The control room calls as the star destroyer shakes violently, causing several Imperials to grab something for support. "The TIEs and the shuttle have made it through the atmosphere, and the shuttle landed safely.

The commander remains still, then points at a nearby technician, "You! I want you to refuel that Y-TIE ugly now."

"Uhh, sir?"

"You heard me, make sure it's fueled," the commander orders. The tech grabs a comrade, and together, they drag hoses to the fighter. Next, the commander looks at Moira. "I promised you a shuttle, but there's a real chance we may not survive this, so I'll get you a decent fighter with the ability to make jumps."

"I can't go with that," she argues. "We had a deal. That ship needs an astromech to jump, and it's a piece of junk."

"I know, I know, but if we're going to die, the least I can do is get you off alive. Let's be honest: you're strong, and it's enough for you to make a fresh start."

"It's still not fair," she says sullenly. "But yeah, I'll be okay."

"Go, quickly. If we survive, you can climb out, and no one's the wiser. If not, well…"

She understood and moved towards the ship quickly, then turns without warning, "You know, you could get in the turret, and we could leave before anyone knows."

"No, I couldn't," he shakes his head.

"Together we could run a crew; the Empire is dead. In a few cycles, you and I could rule a world. The Republic is weak. With your skill at command, leading troopers, and after gather a few crews. We could seize a sector."

"There's an appeal, I won't deny it, but this is where I belong. If I signal you, launch."

"Where are you going to go if the ship is destroyed?"

He remains silent, and Moira frowns, her eyes widening as she realizes what it means. She turns slowly. Then climbs the ladder into the Y-TIE and warms up the engines. The techs disconnect the fuel lines and give her a thumbs up, and she closes the canopy.