“You are an ass!”
“I’m not arguing with you, sir.”
“Look, it was my fault, Rae.”
“You’re a Tarkin. I don’t get to call you an ass.”
“...fair enough.”
Parisian Froul and Shayla Paige-Tarkin stood shamefully before the irate Lieutenant.
Rae Sloane has just been informed of the Corporal and the Senator’s fears and shared them almost immediately.
“We don’t actually know Crodd has him.”
“I’m not inclined to take the risk!” Rae barked “Where’s Captain Rondel?”
“He’s not going to tell us anything.”
“So who else knows? Who else would know?”
“Where would they be taking him?”
Shayla piped up.
“The Emergency Interrogation Room.”
“Don’t you mean Emergency Medical Room?” Parisian asked.
“That’s...not how we run things, Pari.” The senator said flatly “If anyone’s in a state of emergency, first thing we want to know is why. Therefore it helps to have a place where we can find out, quickly and efficiently, what the trouble is.”
“With instruments of torture?”
“If necessary.” Shayla gave a shrug “The presence of them in the room, we find, is very effective in convincing the subject to get to the point as it were.”
“Rrrrright...” Rae said slowly, reminding herself that behind the playful smile, bright eyes and friendly atmosphere, Shayla was indeed a Tarkin through and through “So where’s this room and what might they be doing to Pipsqueak in there?”
“This way. And let’s not think about the second part.”
The three sped down the corridors. Shayla in her slender dress seemed somehow faster than the two in officer’s garb. Swerving round, they caught sight of a door darker in colour to the rest of the corridor. Rae practically grabbed the doorframe and frantically jabbed at the comms button on the door control panel.
A small metallic voice sounded, familiar and decidedly unwelcome to Rae’s ear.
“I’m sorry, I don’t believe we’re expecting any visitors. Please leave.”
“Grand Moff Crodd?”
There came a small chuckling sound from behind the very breath of the speaker.
“Is that you, Lieutenant Sloane? To what to I owe this pleasure?”
“Is Pipsqueak in there?!”
“I believe that should be ‘Is Pipsqueak in there, your excellency.’ for a start.” The sneery voice of Sate Pestage replied through the speaker.
“Sir, please release him into his allotted custody.”
“Let me think...No.”
Rae gritted her teeth, trying to keep her voice level.
Sobbing and raging over the comms was exactly what they wanted from her.
“Grand Moff Tarkin has declared him a civilian.”
“A civilian that spent prolonged time in the company of hijacking fugitives. Under Imperial law, that puts him under suspicion.” Pestage replied surreptitiously.
“Sirs, I implore you-”
“Implore away. Please.” Crodd’s voice was disturbingly calm “It changes nothing. We will conduct ourselves as protocol would demand, Lieutenant. As, I trust, will you.”
The comms box gave a fizzing snarl as it blocked off transmissions from outside.
Rae took a step back, her chest rising and falling faster and stronger, raising one hand in front of her and realising it was shaking.
“...frak...” she murmured, slowly rising in volume as she repeated herself “Frak. Frak. Frak. Frak! Frak! FRAK! FRAAAAK!”
Her fist slammed against the corridor and in her rage, she couldn’t tell if her arm or the wall was trembling.
Her teeth ground against each other as she could feel a misty-sensation about her hot, furrowed brow.
“I need to get in there! And I need to get Pipsqueak out of there!”
“I...well...what exactly do you want me to say, sir?” Parisian fumbled with his words “I...you don’t argue with a Grand Moff.”
Rae snapped her fingers in revelation.
“No-one except another Grand Moff!” She pointed to Shayla “Where’s your uncle?”
“I-in his chambers. But Rae, I don’t think that’s going to work.” the young Senator said anxiously “I mean, Uncle Will could get in and out of there alive but I can’t promise he’d be able to rescue Pipsqueak. And with Pestage at Crodd’s shoulder, I...I really don’t think it’ll make any difference. A Grand Moff can’t override the authority of another Grand Moff.”
Rae clutched her temples, shut her eyes tight and opened them wide again.
“No...but there’s someone who can!”
There was a pause.
Parisian paled.
“You’re not...suggesting...”
“He just got here. Screed told me on the comms.”
“But sir, he’s not going to want to-”
“He owes me a favour.”
Before Parisian could inquire further, Shayla piped up.
“But if he’s in his own chambers, you’ll never be able to get in without permission and even then-”
“That’s what your uncle can take care of!”
“Look, I keep myself in his good books, easier for me for most, but even I can’t just waltz in and ask to see the Supreme Commander!”
“No. But I can.”
“Rae, are you mad?!”
“Quite possibly. No matter which way you look at it, there’s only one person on this ship that can save Pipsqueak right now and I need to see him before Crodd, Pestage or whoever else they have can do anything more to that little colt!”
“Lieutenant...” Parisian mumbled, shaking like a leaf as he croaked out the words
“...You could die.”
Rae blinked and slowly nodded, her voice flat and deadpan.
“Yeah...yeah, I could, couldn’t I.”
She seemed to stand still for a full twenty seconds, flat-faced and contemplative.
Then turned down the corridor towards Tarkin’s chamber without another word.
Parisian Froul watched his commanding-officer depart, quite possibly for the most dangerous mission she’d yet seen.
He wondered what his father would say about it.
If Rae did die, who’d oversee his field training?
Who would he want?
Who’d want him?
His train of thought was cut off as Shayla raised a hand in the air and seemed to sniff.
Taking a step back and placing her hand in a pocket at her hip, she waved a fob at a maintenance cupboard and spun round imperiously as the door opened.
Parisian Froul and Shayla Paige-Tarkin found themselves staring at a duo of frightened-looking female Twi’leks.
“Now...” Shayla barked, sounding more Tarkin than ever “Perhaps either of you can tell me just what I’m supposed to do with you!”
*
Voss Parck hated this part of the job.
To keep him occupied while the higher-ups cleaned up the mess, he’d been sent to Sector Epsilon, the training floor, to oversee marksmanship exercises.
He wondered if ‘exercise’ was the right word. That would, it itself, imply something was being achieved or improved.
He could see no sign of that from where he was standing, watching the recruits manage varying levels of failure in the attempt to shoot standing holographic targets.
It was an ongoing problem with the Imperial Armed Forces.
‘Men’ were needed more than ‘Soldiers’.
The capabilities of the Stormtrooper divisions varied drastically. The troops actually being sent into the frontier, remnants of the Grand Army of the Republic and the more recent Galactic Marines such as the ones Rae Sloane commanded, were the cream of the crop. Their officers would regularly search the military academies for high-performing graduates and enlist them on the spot, completing their training in camp and readying them for the field.
But the standing garrisons, troops drafted for planetary defence, had to make do with the scrapings.
Adding to the problem was the tendency for the various leading families in the Core Worlds to draft an army of their own as well as take any fairly-adept stormtrooper on as their private defence force.
Voss Parck shook his head as he glumly jotted down the performance ratings.
This particular group were to be sent to Sermeria, a thankfully relatively peaceful planet. Parck knew that if Ister Paddie of the Imperial Council ever discovered how few times his planet’s new garrison had ever hit the target, let alone any of its vital points, he’d never sleep well again.
Beside him, Captain Feanor Rondel leaned against the wall with a sulky expression.
He’d been talking for some time now.
“There’s no real future in it, is there, the corps! Not now, anyway! I mean look at us!”
“Useless...” Parck muttered as he scrawled “Absolutely useless...”
“Exactly! And really, when you take all the problems apart, it all comes down to this bias towards women!” he snorted, speaking louder “Yes, some of us dare say it! Some of us, hard-working, dedicated, born-soldiers, we never get looked at twice! Just fodder for the ones in charge. The stuff that isn’t eye-candy!”
“This is just...this is sad. Truly, utterly sad.”
“You said it! I mean, look at me! I barely get noticed! I sent an admission form for a place in General Staff a month ago and I still haven’t been seen to and I bet Therbon’s got something to do with it! She has it in for me! Mors too!”
“Maybe they’d do better if I actually told them to miss...”
“I thought with Bana bloody Breemu finally gotten rid of, things would be different but there is nothing, nothing at all some nasty bint hasn’t gotten her claws into! I have never been called forward once since the Battle of Coruscant and even then, that whore Salima made sure I was out of the picture! I was out there in the streets of Coruscant making sure things were kept in order while she was away having a damn grease-orgy with those she-mechanics she’s so fond of!”
“I’m starting to see why we keep building giant lasers on everything. Even these idiots couldn’t miss a damn planet...not for lack of trying...”
“I have four years of good conduct to my name! Four miserable years! Have I got a ceremony for it? Fat chance! Meanwhile, Sloane, who hasn’t two brain-cells to keep each other company, is flavour of the frakking month! They’ll be making her a Moff one of these days, stars help us all! But honestly, what’s she done that a man like me hasn’t? She’s been promoted by pure chance! Right place, right time, nothing genuine! And as for Daala, who the hell does that little ginger jailbait think she is?! Swanking about the fleet, acting like no-one knows she worked her way up the ranks on her knees! That’s how women like her get ahead, they’ve convinced high command that the rank system is a free-for-all-frak-factory and to hell with the rest of us who want to actually prove ourselves in battle!”
“I wouldn’t be so worried if they were any good in melee but no...”
“Right! That’s exactly what I say! And if any of us actually steps us and says what a bloody disgrace it all is, they all mope and shriek and say ‘Ooh, you just object to a woman doing a man’s job’! Well yes, I do and I think it’s about time someone made that count for something! You know what, I bet Mothma’s got something to do with it. Think about it, she was all over these bloody stupid ‘inclusion policies’ back when she was a Senator, turning the field armies into a living joke! And the Kaminoans must have loved that! Those long-necked freaks didn’t have to deal with feminine-annexation in the armies they were pumping out! Sly Moore! She’s behind it all, poisoning the Emperor’s mind! It all adds up. Senate, military, civil affairs, it all comes down to her, playing both sides just to see the Empire emancipated for all to see!” He kicked the air “One day I’m going to find the connection! Then we’ll see some proper changes! After all the prisons I’ve been sent to manage, I can think of a few fine fellows serving time in them who’d love to get to know Rae Sloane. See how she likes that particular ‘inclusion’!”
“I mean, I knew things were bad but this...”
“I know. You think I’m joking but really, something needs to be done. We need to act. Or it’ll be too late! I mean, I’m being sent to Kamino soon, and either I come back with no-one having noticed, or Sloane accompanies me and she returns a conquering hero! It-it-it’s got to stop! They are bad for the Empire, it’s plain to see! One of us has to stand up to them and put them in their place, the way Palpatine should have done three years ago!”
“Right.” Voss Parck put away the register he’d been marking down and turned to the door “I suppose someone needs to show the Grand Moffs they’d better hope Sermeria doesn’t get any usually violent loiterers anytime soon.”
Feanor Rondel blinked nonplussed.
“Sorry, weren’t you listening?” he snapped.
Parck turned with a frank expression and tone.
“Yes.”
“Well?
“Well what?”
“I mean...Aren’t you concerned?!”
Parck took a deep breath, reflected on Rondel’s words and answered.
“Well...I’m concerned that your mother may have beaten you as a child.” He turned and walked to the door, ignoring the thoroughly flabbergasted Captain Rondel.
“But frankly, it sounds like she still does.”
*
Pipsqueak felt his courage begin to degrade.
It was as if someone had thrown a hard pellet through a window. The smash itself hadn’t destroyed it but bits and pieces were fragmented and falling off in the aftermath.
That was how his nerves felt.
“Uh...” he mumbled “Look, um...I’ve already said I don’t know anything.”
“Yeah. Yeah, you have.” Ilitha’s speech was pretty casual. She wasn’t prim and austere like Pestage nor gruff and rustic like Crodd. Relatively, she sounded quite normal, her way of speaking not too unlike most ponies he’d met.
But something about it was just...wrong. Something behind it all suggested this was a woman who rarely ever got to know someone without hurting horribly.
And worse, it felt like she very much was to get to know Pipsqueak.
“But here’s the thing...You haven’t given us any reason why we should believe you.”
Pipsqueak sought a response.
“Wh-wh-what’ll make you believe me? I-I-I can’t tell you what I don’t know...”
“No, you can’t, can you.” Ilitha said flatly.
Pipsqueak sat completely still in the chair as the Nautolan’s four, clawed, slippery fingers hovered over his ears.
“But sometimes we know more than we know we know...”
“Huh?”
“Something we missed, something we saw but didn’t know what it meant, what it led to, what it measured.”
“I don’t understand.”
“My point, little pony, is that what you know doesn’t interest me so much as what you saw.”
“Well...maybe but...I can’t show you what I saw.”
The Nautolan laughed quietly as Pipsqueak felt the hard, wet, slightly-sticky fingertips of his captor press against the sides of his head.
“Wrong.” she whispered.
Then something shifted inside his skull.
Pipsqueak’s jaw locked together as he wheezed suddenly through gritted teeth, the back of his head slamming against the seat, his limbs shaking and jolting in their cuffs. His belly seemed to compress as air was forced in and out of him without his control or consent. His mane stood completely on end as his eyes widened to the size of a full-grown stallion’s hooves. He felt them tugging forward, trying to squeeze out of his sockets. The soft parts of joints felt as though they were being stretched like gum. He was certain the tops of his teeth were cracking.
He felt certain, then and there that her fingers were digging under his face. Under his eyes. Straight into his skull.
He tasted dust.
His vision was blurring and blackening.
But he heard everything.
“Here’s what’s going to happen, Pipsqueak.” Ilitha’s voice sounded calmer and more dangerous than ever, the smile stretched wider than physical possibility dictated “I’m going to get inside you. Deep inside. And then, if we’re both lucky, I’ll find what I need. First though...”
His eyes went black without closing. He felt himself feel smaller and smaller, sinking into an abyss that was forming around him slower than he could fall.
“We need to crrrrrrrrrrack...you...open...”
He found his breath again. His hooves felt weak and his buckling hinds refused to pick him up at once.
He was home.
But not as how remembered it last time he was here.
And yet he remembered it being like this once.
Everything was dark. The lights were out, broken, glass was all over the floor. Everything was gathering dust and cobwebs. There were dark stains all over the floor and walls. The wallpaper was feeling and the windows were smashed. Parts of the wall were cracked, almost as they they’d been actively kicked by a...
Pipsqueak felt his blood run cold.
...a stallion’s hoof.
Thump!
Something pounded on a door somewhere. Something big, hard, angry.
Thump! Thump!
This time it was at the door to the room Pipsqueak was in. He scrambled to his hooves and stared at the door as something from the other end kicked at it.
In that instance, Pipsqueak forgot all about Ilitha. And Crodd. And Pestage. And Rae. And Tarkin. And the Maldovar Boyz. And Thrawn. And the Fantasia. And Ayy Vida and Lunae Minx. And everything else.
All he knew was this.
All he remembered was this.
And there, in that dark, empty room, he heard the voice that had always heralded a world of fear and pain.
“COLT!!!”
A stallion’s voice, possessed of a lower-class Trottingham accent, slurred, groaning but so terribly loud and sudden.
“OPEN THIS DOOR!!!”
Pipsqueak started shaking, backing away over stumbling hooves, feeling his breath come in and out twice a second.
The door behind him was open slightly. Rushing to it, he threw it open with the full side of his body.
As the long, dark corridor seemed to stare into him just as much as he stared into it, he heard (And felt) the hinges of the door behind him give way as it burst open, falling flat on the ground.
A monster stood before him.
A monster who somehow looked so much like a stallion, wild-maned and wild-eyed.
Yet Pipsqueak knew there was nothing pony in that thing. He knew. He remembered.
It ground its teeth, letting out a frothing hiss.
It threw a bottle in his hoof which shattered in front of Pipsqueak. Bitter-smelling khaki liquid spilled over the corner of the wall.
It knocked over a lamp. Somehow, a spark flew.
Flames burst all around Pipsqueak, providing an unwelcome light with which to see the monster before him better.
It roared.
“YOU’RE IN SO MUCH TROUBLE!!!”
With a shriek of horror, Pipsqueak turned around and bolted for the corridor.
On and on he galloped as the sounds of stallion’s hooves thundered like cannons fast behind him.
“COME HERE!!!”
He disobeyed the monster, hoping to Luna doing so would not end the way it had always done.
Something blocked the path onwards.
Stairs. Rising higher and higher.
He could just make out a light at the top, however high it was.
He had to run, climb, fly, anything to get away.
“YOU WON’T GET AWAY FROM ME!!!”
Pushing forward with all his little might, Pipsqueak raced up the steps, on and on.
Still, he kept hearing the stallion’s hooves behind him. Getting closer.
He had to keep running.
He had to get away, no matter what it took.
He’d run from the monster. He’d made it chase him.
He knew that if it caught him, it would hurt him.
More than he knew.
On and on, Pipsqueak ran.
He felt his breath fall short.
He was losing. His sides felt like they were being ripped open.
He was barely touching the steps that seemed to stretch on forever.
The steps were getting larger, higher, harder to reach.
And the stallion’s hooves just kept coming.
As he reached for one that he could just about reach, he felt something tug at his tail.
Hands. Wet hands.
For a moment, he hovered in the air, jerked out of his momentum, reaching out desperately for the next step in front of him.
Then he fell, his belly thumped against the corner painfully and he tumbled.
The stallion was reaching out, eyes blazing, hooves grasping.
Pipsqueak screamed as he fell towards them.
“No! No! No! No! No! No! Please! NO! PLEASE! NO! NO! NO! NO!”
It grabbed him like a rag and slung him hard upon the solid ground.
Pipsqueak felt all energy cut off from his hooves as the sheer shock and force of the landing nearly broke him like a wooden doll.
He felt one huge hoof slam into his chest, stealing his air.
Then the next one came down, going for dark path upon his eye.
WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! WHAM!
Pipsqueak didn’t move. He couldn’t.
He just shook and felt every burning moment.
WHAM! WHAM! WHAM!
He tried to gasp out a plea but no words came.
No air came.
The hoof was too hard on his chest, pressing him into the floor, crushing him.
He couldn’t breath.
He couldn’t breath!
WHAM! WHAM! WHAM!
He couldn’t breath!
He breathed.
The sound came like a rusty brass horn as the little colt gasped for air.
Everything stung. Everything ached. Everything burned.
His eyes felt like they’d had sand ground over them.
He wanted to cry, sob his heart out, but no tears came and he was too desperate for air to waste it crying.
His body was shaking all over, his fur felt dry and lifeless.
Ilitha was standing over him, stretched out on the base of the seat.
Her eyes had rolled back almost behind her lids as her hands left Pipsqueak’s temples and were caressing her own face.
She was licking the fingertips that had dug into Pipsqueak’s mind.
“Such...sweet...pain...” she murmured ecstatically.
Crodd and Pestage were giving unimpressed looks. Nothing about them seemed shaken.
“What manner of madness was that, may I inquire?” The Grand Vizier sneered.
“A most advanced school of Sith-craft.” Ilitha answered “An obscure and esoteric cousin of the traditional mind manipulation technique. It is known as the Eye of the Dark Side.” She gave a giggle as Pipsqueak felt her tentacles slap against his face and neck.
“What an...interesting father you had, little nuna.”
The colt began to break, whimpering audibly, shutting his eyes tight wishing for the nightmare to end.”
“What’s his father got to do with anything?”
“The Eye of the Dark Side is the pinnacle of interrogation performance. It allows its user to tap into the subject’s mind, seeing all that they have seen and knowing all that they know and more.” She grinned her hideous grin again “But to unlock the mind, one must break through a proverbial barrier, in this sense, find the most deeply repressed memory, the situation in their life they felt most vulnerable and afraid, and have them live it out as many times as it takes for them to utterly open up their lives to you. Think of it as breaking through a floodgate. Apply enough force in the right area...and they are yours.”
"Speaking of floodgates..." Pestage edged back with distaste "He's not going to have an...accident, is he?"
"No. Grand Vizier. While I get into his mind, the bodily functions are practically shut off. It's why you need to let them up for air after a while."
“How long does this take?”
“Well...” she chuckled “That all depends on you, doesn’t it, little one.”
The colt dared to look up with his stinging, bloodshot eyes.
“...please...” he murmured.
“You need to grant the subjects pause to come up for air, you see. In some cases, this has taken days...but it always works.”
She leaned forward.
“I don’t think we’re going to have that problem with you, are we, little Pipsqueak.”
“...I...” he gasped, between sobs “...please...”
“Ready now? Good.”
“No! Not again, please! Don’t take me back to him, ple-”
His begging was cut off as the fingers came back, digging deeper.
*
“So you see, honoured royals, the outline of our proposition.”
Senator Gem Sirrom stood in a trailing maroon cape before the Tapani Royal Council of Procopia who were busy gazing ponderously at the holographic charts and prints the Senator and her associates had planned for them.
There was a silence in the mighty house of government that betrayed little sway one way or the other.
“Miss Sirrom.” One of them, the stocky, moustachioed Colonel-Ducal Heron Strobestock of House Barnaba, said at last “These are...well...your planning is quite impressive...but I fear there is simply too much you fail to take into consideration. Tapani needs its armies.”
Sirrom raised an eyebrow and replied.
“You mean House Mecetti needs its armies?”
“The military affairs of Tapani are a council matter. It just so happens that House Mecetti has demonstrated the most proficiency in it.” Lady Nastascha of House Cadriaan said plainly “It’s all perfectly logical, we all agreed to it.”
“How willingly? And was there not one who argued against it? One who contributed just as much military power, if not more so, and better still knew how to keep it in check and use it for good?”
“Ma’am the business with House Pelagia was...a complicated issue.”
“They did break the law.” Lord Barleos of House Melantha added.
“And what right did House Mecetti have in judging them? In condemning them?” the senator shook her head “What they did, would you call that justice? Or convenience?”
An uneasiness hung over the court. Few had forgotten the aftermath of such an event.
“Madam, House Pelagia weren’t blameless in the affair.” the sagely, soft-spoken Lord Weston Warsheld of House Calipsa said calmly “They were just as capable of cruelty and greed as their rival, if not more so, many of the other houses can testify. It was not a massacre of innocent parties, it was a clan war that House Mecetti happened to win.”
“I would ask if those are your words coming out of your mouth, my lord, or Grant’s.”
Gem Sirrom’s words cast another gloom as the Lords looked uneasily from one to the other.
“My good lady, Octavian Grant is not the official master of House Mecetti, merely its heir.” the balding Baron Quinn Sheffield of House Reena pointed out.
Sirrom hid a scowl. It was well-known Sheffield was among those responsible for giving Grant and his mother the loophole to leave the Grand Admiral free to come and go to Tapani whenever he pleased without fear of reprisal.
“Yet he commands it nonetheless. Is that what you consider in-keeping with the royal customs and conduct of Tapani?”
“The complications of ruling a Royal House...”
“Should not be his, as the information I have brought you proves!”
“I caution.” Warsheld spoke firmer than usual but Sirrom noticed hints of fear in his eyes.
The pet vornstr of Lord Muntique, Warsheld’s kinsman, growled slightly but Muntique calmed it with a ruffle behind the ears. He spoke, possessed of a much blunter tone than his lordly uncle.
“You don’t know Octavian Grant like we do, my lady. He may not look like much but he’s deadly. Utterly deadly. On the surface he might well look like some puffed-up, flamboyant nancy-boy but...when he actually enters battle, it’s like he becomes a new person.”
“His tactical prowess and attention to detail can ensure his fleet switch from an impenetrable floating powerhouse for the whole galaxy to witness to an invisible warhost spread over the sectors with no-one noticing.” Sheffield spoke with a tone indicating some amount of admiration.
“The fact he was top of his class in the academy is not mere fluff you find on other admirals. He’s patient, ruthless and commands absolute obedience from his fleet...” Nastascha finished “If the Royal Houses were to depose him, not only would we upset the Empire in a way we would be fortunate to escape unharmed but we would create a power vacuum across Tapani and its reaches.”
“Which would be avoided if you would join our Delegation.”
“Join your fight, you mean?” Strobestock asked with a hint of sarcasm.
“You wish to live without House Mecetti and its power-games? We provide you a way. As part of the Delegation, you shall share in the bounty and protection of the civilised systems.”
“As if to say we are not civilised?” Barleos sniped.
“Not at all, your grace, but surely you cannot ignore the problems Tapani faces. You have stood apart from galactic affairs for the better part of an era ever since the Great Sith War. Now Grant is attempting to drag you his way. We offer a way out.”
“By dragging us your way?”
“If you consider our proposition uncomfortable, read over the facts again.” she pointed to the holographic images “Unlike the Empire, we are honest and humble. We outline every difficulty or damage you may face and take responsibility for it. But what does the Empire offer that we cannot?”
“Security for one.”
Sirrom gave a curt exhale, tossing the single curl in her tied-up hair.
“In this intel, we bring news of how many ‘threats’ House Mecetti have claimed to have destroyed to be either exaggerated or outright faked. When House Mecetti, nay the Empire, cannot fabricate their enemies, they actively create them. They will lead Tapani into war.”
“And have a greater chance of winning it with their aid, surely?”
“What would be the point when among the Delegation, you needn’t fear war?” The Senator explained “And with the right course of action, such as the one we’ve outlined in our proposition, Grant will have no say in the matter.”
“It would take more than the word of the council to topple Grant from his perch, there are millions across Tapani who call him ‘hero’.”
“My lords, I say this in confidence.” Sirrom gave a smile “Very soon, circumstances will change that.”
Strobestock stood, his bushy eyebrows furrowed.
“So there is resistance activity in Tapani! You swore it would not be so!”
“Sire, this particular group only made indirect contact with us recently. They are not our agents, merely concerned citizens of Tapani who wish to live without the boot of the Empire on their throats.”
She looked to the lords, betraying no contempt for them.
“Change is coming to Tapani. Loud and fast. Will you be a part of it?”
The lords were quiet.
Deep down, Gem Sirrom couldn’t stand the collection of preening, arrogant, overindulgent high-born before her and neither would the Delegation. It was their intention to grant louder voice to the common people of Tapani and slowly but surely weather away at the royal influence until they remembered they ruled for the people’s benefit rather than their own.
Get rid of Grant and they’d have no-one to hide behind when the masses pounded on their doors.
They needed Tapani. They didn’t need its lords.
She spread out her arms.
“So, my lords, what shall it be?”
The Royal Council looked to each other.
Warsheld finally stood, a tentative look on his face.
“If what you say is true, madam...then we-”
“My lords! One has entered in grace and esteem!” A herald spoke in a voice that ran through the room.
Sirrom spun round to face the door and beheld the visitor. Her face immediately creased with disdain. She folded her arms and stood firm.
He couldn’t harm her, she reminded herself. He couldn’t disrupt what was about to happen.
The Herald announced the smiling, well-dressed visitor in full.
“Enter Octavian Auguste Grant, son of Odysseus Sigismund Grant and Penelope Anjoulia Panos, grandson of Laertes of the Green Flame, and Scion of the venerable House Mecetti. Grand Moff of the Tapani Oversector, Grand Admiral of the Galactic Empire, Commander-in-Chief of the 20th Army Emerald Banner Command, Captain of the Imperial Star Destroyer Oriflamme, Protector of the Colonies, Lord of Obulette, Castellan of Procopia, Conqueror of Pelagon, Hammer of Obelia, Arbiter of Bethal, Beloved of Lastelle, Bombast of the Leozi, Conciliator of Nella and Grella, Bane of Sefon, Defender of the Grand Procopian Shipping Lane, Honorary Captain-General of the Tapani Home Defence Fleet Honour Guard, Gonfalonier of Tallaan, Knight-Commander of the Order of the Wyvern of House Mecetti, 1st Class of the Order of the Nightsinger Aflame of House Reena, Prime Stockholder of Tampson Consolidated Inc., Master of Laws and Bachelor of Fine Arts at the Eminent College of Procopia and...Adeptus-Evidente of the Mecrosa Order.”
The Herald bowed and retook his place in the corner of the chamber.
Sirrom rolled her eyes and muttered.
“There’s more for anyone who hasn’t died of old age.”
Long lists, lofty titles, pretention and aggrandisement, pomp and circumstance.
Typical Imperial practice.
The lords stood and bowed as Grand Admiral Octavian Grant paced elegantly over to the Royal Council.
“My gracious lords.” he spun his hand and bowed in turn “I cannot apologise enough for my tardiness. Circumstances that were as necessary as they were arduous delayed my arrival.”
“Quite understood.” Warsheld said plainly “And...does the absence of House Mecetti’s official representative on the Royal Council continue?”
“Sadly. Lady Gantrolo yet remains on my estate. The scars her depraved Pelagian husband left upon her still sting.”
“We shall pray for her recovery.” Nastascha added.
Behind Grant came several figures.
A tall, slender, angular woman with short teal hair and a dark dress took a spot behind Octavian Grant. And behind her were a set of indistinct individuals in robes of bottle-green and indigo with veils that obscured their faces.
Sirrom was now less certain of things running smoothly. If these were who she thought they were...
Technically, an Adeptus-Evidente was the only rank and title the Mecrosa used that allowed one to say they were a member in public. One would have to be virtually untouchable socially and politically to be named as such.
But was he actually bringing the Mecrosa here?
Rule of Tapani. If you were important, rich and gathered in a group, Mecrosa meant nothing good.
They were carrying something in on a floating push-platform. Lots of fairly decent-sized metal boxes stamped with the seal of House Mecetti.
Something was off about this, Sirrom didn’t have to be a Jedi to know.
Octavian Grant spoke.
“I’ve been informed of the state of things. Apparently, Miss Sirrom, delighted by the way, you claim that it is in Tapani’s interests to disband the Planetary-Defence Corps and reject the prospect of an Imperial garrison.”
Sirrom gave a quiet clear of her throat and spoke flatly and firmly.
“That is correct.”
Grant’s smile was unwavering.
“Well...forgive me for sounding foolish but I would ask what we are meant to do if ever we are attacked?”
“In the event of any threat to planetary security, one would look to those close to them.”
Grant blinked.
“Yes, I um...” He was putting on a show of false awkwardness and unawareness “I rather thought that was why we support the Empire.”
“No, Mr Grant. It’s why you support the empire.”
The lords turned to her with widened eyes.
Sirrom had played this game before and she remembered what Mothma had taught her. The first and largest hurdle in disassembling the empire.
Make the people no longer afraid of them.
Grant, it seemed, had not lost his composure.
“Senator Sirrom, I generally do not let my opinions and needs override those of Tapani. The support I offer the Empire is equal to that it offers us. Threats must be dealt with quickly and efficiently.”
“Really? And what happens when you become that threat?”
That made Grant laugh. Not evilly but sincerely. As if he had genuinely heard a very good joke.
“What an extraordinary idea, my dear lady! I’ll have to ponder over that this evening with a nice glass of wine.”
“I’m being serious.” Gem Sirrom raised an eyebrow “You are not this council, Grant, and you do not speak in their stead. Lately however, you have far overreached yourself both in authority and in conduct. I have observed your methods in overseeing the Tapani government, Grant. Whenever your right to preside over the council, effectively as an Imperial-puppet-dictator in all but name, is questioned then you bring up the possibility of threats to the sector. Yet none come. None have made news. So I will ask you a question, Octavian Grant, and I expect it answered immediately and honestly.”
Grant heard Loalo Ettagon gave a curt sniff, hiding fury, but neither of them broke from their composed demeanours.
He spoke.
“Ask.”
“When was the last time Tapani saw a serious threat to its people and how swiftly was it seen to?”
At this, Grant pulled out an ornate-looking pocket-watch, checked its measures, and answered with a grin.
“To the first, dear lady, three hours ago. And to the second, dear lady...three hours ago.”
The lords looked to each other again, befuddled.
Gem Sirrom blinked and continued her query, hoping to dig beneath the façade of confidence Grant was putting on.
“I would ask for proof of such a claim.”
Grant chuckled again, this time a bit more sinisterly, raising his hands close to one another effetely.
“My dear Miss Sirrom, nothing could be simpler.”
He clapped.
And the Mecrosa opened the boxes.
There was a chorus of gasps, shrieks and splutters as out of the boxes, all opening by remote simultaneously at the front, tumbled around thirty severed heads.
Humans, aliens, males, females, large and small, old and young.
Senator Gem Sirrom stared at the sight of Andrey Volt’s blank dead eyes and mouth so wide in a silent scream there were signs of tearing at the edges of his blood-drenched lips.
Her ardour broke.
Grant had bought corpses into a house of government. And these particular heads were ones she’d been talking to as early as this morning.
The lords stood, not so much in shock as as in submission, as if it were a gesture of conceding defeat, many of them recognising the heads of the Paddox triplets and those of other royalty.
“I...would ask...whom...” Warsheld managed to say.
“And I would be happy to answer.” Grant stepped forward, his nimble steps avoiding the heads as if he were dancing around them.
“A group of assorted ne’er-do-wells, dissolutes, fugitives and otherwise people of unsavoury repute and ill-intention. My dear aunt is presently sending the holographic plans they had prepared to the council mainframe. There is no other word to describe it but terrorism.”
The holoprojector on the ceiling reactivated and showed off the plans the late Tapani Resistance had planned.
“They would strike at the parade at Obulette. See the fine details for yourselves, my lords. Bombs set off, blasters fired, networks hacked, funds stolen, guards attacked and impersonated, respectable members of the community abducted and held against their will...and worse. Tell me, my lords, in sincerity, do we allow such things on Tapani?”
It was Sheffield who found his voice.
“No, your grace.”
“Should we though, do you think?”
“No, your grace.”
“No...I thought not.” his tone sounded evaluating, as if he himself were the man least certain of the point he himself was presently making “And I suppose we should be very grateful that my dear aunt’s venerable associates were able to trace this threat, in record time mind you, and rooted it out before any innocents could be hurt. For let it not be ignored that this resistance fully intended to have as many members of the populace involved in their schemes, whether they liked it or not. Such is their way. A ‘Join or Die’ approach. Most unseemly, I find. Don’t you agree?”
“Of course, your grace.” Barleos answered.
“Hm...but then, I worry for your own provinces. House Mecetti’s own protectors were able to act fast but, and this is not to say you are incapable of protecting yourselves, but supposing any other terrorist cell regards this as an action warranting retribution and decide to point their malice at my firm friends in the Royal Council...” He sighed, folding one arm over the other and placing a free hand below his chin “I would spend many a sleepless night...If only we shared the proper military presence...united...stable...as loyal to Tapani...as Tapani was loyal to them.”
“You...speak of setting up an Imperial garrison on Tapani, your eminence?” Nastascha supposed with a heavy murmur.
Grant snapped his fingers.
“Now there’s an idea! Obviously, I was a bit uncertain. It is after all a very complicated matter but, faced with the alternative, perhaps you’d find the idea more...appealing. We would need a large one, set up a post on Procopia, though we’d use the Tallaan shipyards most of the time. Your families would, of course, be well compensated.”
“It...seems that would be wise at this stage...” Strobestock said with a cough “Provided this garrison would acknowledge that the authority of the Royal Houses does count for much in Tapani.”
“Oh without question, my lord. Respect and protection for all communities under the Empire is our number one priority.”
“Fine...and...how soon would it take for you to establish the garrison?”
“Oh, I already have. I know, I know. Naughty Tavi.” He slapped his own wrist “But you see while there still was the presence of an active terrorist group, one who had displayed an aptitude at hacking and espionage, I felt it necessary to keep the matter as disclosed as possible until we could be certain that nothing in the making would go awry. Please accept my apologies if I have acted out of order.”
“No, no, your eminence, it is...quite clear you acted in our best interests.” Muntique mumbled, holding his pet vornstr from the appetising feast before it “Obviously...things could have gotten very much out of hand...”
“I’m glad you understand.”
“We will, of course, continue to do our duties to Tapani as we will to the Empire.” Warsheld said, adjusting his collar.
At this, Grant gave a smile.
“Your graces, I am certain that his Imperial Majesty appreciates your willingness as much as I do but I believe that your work-load shall be substantially lessened. Four hours ago, Imperial High Command enacted immediate total economic centralisation of Tapani’s State Affairs Departments. Effective immediately, the Ministry of Planetary Defence; the Department of Taxation, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs; the Ministry of Education; the Ministry of Culture; the Department of Transport; the Department of Information; the Sectoral Broadcasting Agency and the Ministries of Public, Social and State Security are transferred with all branches, sub-departments and connections presiding...to my jurisdiction. The House Ministry of Inquiry is to be re-established and other ministries promoting Imperial recruitment, crisis informatics and information distribution in regards to the Empire and its works are in establishment as we speak.” His face brightened “On the plus-side, you all get paid vacation. You may arrange booking with the Secretariat.”
“You um...you are most efficient, your eminence...” Strobestock burbled, finding his feet “And clearly very influential with this Empire.”
“I just try to make sure everyone rests easy, knowing that this will be an alliance that will bring Tapani peace and prosperity like never before. I will of course be happy to hear counsel and constructive criticism if ever you should feel it necessary.” He bowed again with both hands open “Fast-tracked as I am, I still have plenty of growing up to do and I hope to learn from the wisdom of my elders in the grand adventure of politics.”
He signalled to the Mecrosa who began picking up the heads and redepositing them into their boxes as well as trailing snaky, furry mop-like implements over the floor to clean up any blood.
Grant clapped his hands and grinned jovially as the Mecrosa took away the boxes and departed.
“Now, if that’s all for today, my mother is throwing a little return party for me at Palatte Mecetti this evening and you’re all invited. I hope you like Tallaani food. My dear sister Orcidia makes a simply scrumptious Baranda Marinade.” He kissed the air “You’ve never tasted anything like it, washed down with the finest wines and spirits in the Colonies. We hope to see you there. Eat, drink, dance and sing to your heart’s content, I certainly will.”
“Too kind, your eminence, too kind. We shall...enjoy such an occasion, I’m sure.”
“Yes...I’m sure too. Farewell, dear friends. Have a lovely afternoon.”
Gem Sirrom stared as the lords shuffled out the side-doors without a word.
It wasn’t just the severed heads they tried to avoid looking at.
Not a one of them had even glanced at her since the Mecrosa had appeared. It was as if she was no longer in the chamber.
They were absolving their responsibility. And why wouldn’t they. It had been the resistance who’d invited her, not they. And the resistance were now in Mecetti-stamped boxes.
It dawned on her that she was now alone in the royal chambers with a mass-murdering Imperial Grand Admiral.
Standing before her.
Smiling.
Octavian Grant approached in quiet, cat-like steps, his hands behind his back.
Gem Sirrom’s body felt frozen with fear, completely still and yet her insides felt like their twisting and pulling each other horribly. Like a hard gourd left out in the open and just starting to crumple.
He held out a hand, twiddling the fingers boyishly.
“The plans please, Miss Sirrom.”
Gem Sirrom stood there for what felt like an hour.
They were alone.
Weren’t they?
This was Tapani, his land. The Mecrosa oversaw what the Empire couldn’t.
A dozen possibilities played out in her head for what might happen if she refused.
With a hand that felt like it was shaking even though it wasn’t, she handed him the holocron of the plans she’d brought forth to the Royal Court of Tapani.
Loopholes in the system, alternative means of security, providing what the Empire could not.
All the things Grant had missed he now had in his hands.
Sirrom managed to speak.
“...we have copies...”
That didn’t seem to surprise Grant.
“Wise. Though it didn’t do that lot much good.”
“...so they didn’t talk?”
“Oh they talked. Quite a lot, in fact. But I prefer to have these things in writing, don’t you?”
They were barely three inches apart. Sirrom could feel his breath.
He was wearing perfume. She could smell it. Fresh dew, cut grass, forest moss, celonslay and sweetroot.
It was the kind of perfume that kept those who smelled it awake, whether they wanted to be or not.
He deposited the plans into his shirt pocket but he didn’t move back.
That smile was more frightening that the veils of the Mecrosa. In fact it was very possible a smile like that was what one would find beneath the veil.
He spoke. Slowly, contemplatively, as if it was only slightly worth the effort.
“You know...I’m still trying to find a way you could have thought this would end well for you but...I simply can’t.”
He paced forward, making her step back. Other than that, nothing about his posture or expression changed.
“I imagine it felt good. I see it in your eyes. You like to imagine you’re some kind of undercover dynamo, working in secret with a galaxy-spanning network to unravel the workings of this megalomaniacal dominion taking apart the things you find most precious...”
The way he was looking at her, one might have thought he was looking at an adorably simple little tooka.
But his voice grew darker.
“Funny...All I see is a parasite, angry at life, crying in a corner and hoping someone will cry along with them, just so they know they aren’t alone. You see...you say whatever you please. You know you’ll find someone who agrees with you. More parasites. You don’t need to know who they are or how they can help you because you aren’t looking for help. You just want to pretend. Pretend that somehow what you’re doing is not only productive but outright heroic. After all, sharp words can cut just as deeply as if they were blades.”
He chuckled as he held up one hand in front of her cheek. Sirrom gave a small gasp as she felt her back touch the council table. She had nowhere to run and was now staring at the hand raised before her face.
He wasn’t touching her. Just hovering. As if miming.
“Not yours though. A blade, you see, has a direction, a motive, it will cut and draw, leaving a mark.” He drew one finger across the air as if drawing an invisible scar over her “Yours are like needles, in and out, over before we even know it’s there. Not damaging but...not pleasant...in any way.” He pinched the air tightly “It’s not a lasting pain but...it’s irritating.”
His hand just hovered and nearly met the beads of sweat running down Sirrom’s face.
“But I have always found it...so funny...how someone who takes such issue with how we deal with irritations...would so swiftly, clearly and obviously risk becoming an irritation themselves. I am genuinely curious what you thought was going to happen!”
He was openly laughing now at the situation he must have thought seemed so trivial.
“And now I see it...I really should have expected it. You didn’t think at all. You were too busy imagining everything was out to get you. You’re just the angry voice in the shadows, cursing and shrieking at things you know nothing about. You’ll say anything because you feel so strong there where no-one can see how small you are. You cast a mighty shadow. But put in the light...you stand here...helpless...waiting...for my reaction...And I can scarcely contemplate how much you regret putting me in such a position...to warrant my reaction.”
The hand moved forward.
And quickly but ever so softly tapped the top of Sirrom’s right ear.
But there and then, the first movement after so much harrowing trepidation it was like a forcefield had shattered.
The Senator gave a shriek and fell to one knee, one arm reaching out to grab the table as the other clasped the side of her face. Gem Sirrom gasped for air, her eyes wide and staring blankly in front of her.
Octavian Grant just stood and watched with a soft smile that looked almost pitying.
After a moment had passed, he daintily reached down and picked the Senator up by the shoulders, steadying her as if he were a kindly matron, and straightening the collar of her dress.
It was a nice dress, he found. He’d have to look into Dahvinian fabrics.
Tossing his hair in a carefree manner, the boyish grin still etched on his features, he reached forward to give her shoulder a mellow pat which she barely felt.
Beside her, he leaned his neck forward and whispered, still wearing the eminent smile and carefree expression, his voice as sharp and cold as a deep-space asteroid shower, the words appearing to echo in Sirrom’s stinging ear as he passed on his message to her friends in the Delegation.
“Get out of my home, you rebel scum.”
*
Rae Sloane found the door to the Grand Moff’s chambers quickly.
One only had to look for the Mon Calamari before it.
The Mon Calamari was an elderly fellow, his scales a mottled ochre.
His name was familiar to him.
“Ackbar!” she caught her breath “I need to speak with Tarkin. Right now.”
“I’m...sorry, Lieutenant. I do not believe that would be acceptable at this moment. I can take a message if you wish.”
“I’m sorry, this is something I need to tell him right now.”
“Ma’am, I...I’m sorry. I cannot disobey his wishes.”
“You’re his butler, Ackbar. Not his bodyguard.”
“Nonetheless, he would find it most irritating.”
“Look...you can say I threatened you. If you gives you any grief, talk to Shayla. I promise...” he patted him on the shoulder “I’ll take responsibility.”
The alien blinked with wide, piscine eyes.
“Very well, ma’am -ahem- sir.”
“Just call me Rae.” she said with a smile as she made her way to the door.
She could have sworn it had grown larger while she’d taken her eye off it.
Taking a deep breath and swearing that if she ever got out of this then she’d know there was nothing the wars to come could do to her, she pressed the doorbell on the chamber door-control.
There was the sounds of commotion behind the door.
She’d interrupted Tarkin in the middle of something.
She cricked her neck and seemed to forget what madness had possessed to do this.
Angry Tarkin.
The notion, in itself, was a byword for a grim, grisly and unenviable death.
She fought the wish to break and flee as the door slid open.
Grand Moff Wilhuff Tarkin was standing before her in a gown as grey as her blaster (It felt wrong to call it a ‘dressing-gown’. When Tarkin was wearing it, the word sounded too nice and cosy to apply).
Fighting the wish to see if, according to the mess-hall rumours, he actually did wear fluffy pink-slippers behind closed doors, she stood to attention as the Hammer of Eriadu fixed her with a glare.
Some people had such an iron expression that so many saw that the slightest tug of the lips of raise of the brow could signify safety or certain death for the one observing it.
Wilhuff Tarkin was a master of this form of psychological warfare. His eyes were half-lidded, his lips were thin and his brow was just ever-so-slightly furrowed.
And yet it was as sharp and menacing as a knife at her throat.
He spoke at last.
“Lieutenant.” If he was tired, his voice gave no indication but he emphasised every other word just to drag out the harrowing conversation “I trust you are able to justify your intrusion with matters of profound importance.”
Rae remembered Pipsqueak. And played her hand.
“Grand Moff Crodd has taken custody of the foal, Pipsqueak.”
Wilhuff’s expression did not change.
“Unfortunate...And?”
“Sir, I ask, with due sense of decorum and reverence, to overturn his authority and return Pipsqueak to my care.”
Wilhuff Tarkin blinked. Not out of shock, it was a levelled blink, as if to quietly ask himself if Rae Sloane was still standing before him.
“I believe you shall find that impossible for...a wide variety of reasons.”
“Sir, Pipsqueak is a neutral civilian.”
“But he was in the presence of enemies of the Empire.”
“He was captured, sir. And for hardly longer than an hour.”
“No, Lieutenant. If you are an Imperial citizen or serviceman, you are captured. If you are designated a neutral party, being in the presence of enemies of the state is grounds for questioning under standard protocol.”
“Sir, I am certain that Crodd and Grand Vizier Pestage plan to torture him.”
“As am I. But the matter is not mine to resolve. A Grand Moff may only overturn another’s authority with the approval of a higher authority and I would presume that Grand Vizier Sate Pestage is the aforementioned higher authority which, in this instance, will not favour my own.”
“Yes, sir, I am aware. That is why I ask for your permission to...speak to the Supreme Commander.”
This time, Wilhuff Tarkin did look shocked. His expression still barely changed but the look in his eyes was there.
“You...wish to speak...to the Supreme Commander?”
“That is correct, sir. You hold the access control key to his private chamber on this ship so-”
“Yes, I am well aware of that, Lieutenant.” he interrupted “But first I would endeavour to ask a number of questions.”
Rae tensed. Pipsqueak was still waiting for her and she didn’t want to think about what Crodd, Pestage or that crazy Nautolan were doing behind that door.
“Yes, sir.”
“Have you recently been drinking, Lieutenant?”
“Sir?”
“Specifically alcohol, if that was not clear.”
“I don’t understa-”
“Answer the question.”
“...no, sir.”
“Indeed. Have you recently been smoking on one or multiple death-sticks?”
“No, sir.” Rae didn’t like the direction these questions were following.
“And have you recently been engaging in the usage of any narcotic spices?”
“No, sir.”
“Fine. In that case, I would like you to immediately arrange an appointment with the ships’ psycho-analyser droids for I fear your mental corpus is not currently seamless.”
“But, sir...”
“It is out of my hands, Lieutenant, for reasons I should not have to explain. I did, if you remember, warn you that the foal was your responsibility and I wanted no nonsense from him. Alas, this was not to be the case and while I am perfectly aware that circumstances were not in your control, that doesn’t change the fact that-”
“Oh Willy? Are you coming back soon? Your muse is missing her font of...Oh!”
At that moment, a young lady possessed of long fiery auburn hair, wet from bathing, and hungry cat-like eyes strode into view behind Tarkin.
Rae imagined that Thrawn would have found the moment similar to the classic paintings.
Not because of its serene atmosphere or dynamic poise or whimsical background but because the subject in question wasn’t wearing any clothes.
Upon noticing the presence of someone at the door, Captain Natasi Daala gave a squeal and pulled up a nearby towel to cover herself, blushing furiously and giving a slight giggle.
“Hey. Nat.” Rae said cheerfully.
“Hi, Rae.”
Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap!
The lips of Grand Moff Wilhuff Tarkin grew white, thinning themselves as far as they’d go, as the old man furiously snapped his fingers over and over in front of his flustered mistress who tentatively ducked back into the en-suite bathroom, leaving the Grand Moff to turn back to visitor who now stood before him with a face she was strenuously trying to keep as flat as possible.
He spoke before she could get the chance.
“Her shower is broken.” she said bluntly “Her room is closest to my own. I have allowed her usage of my washing and/or bathing facilities for the time-being. It is all completely professional if that was not already clear.”
“Perfectly clear, sir.” Rae replied in a civil tone “May I ask, sir, in the wake of recent events, how fares your lady wife?”
“How the hell should I know?!” Wilhuff Tarkin replied in a much more abrupt tone, showing definite signs of impatience.
There was a pause and for a moment, Rae Sloane felt sure that she’d gone too far.
When Wilhuff Tarkin reached for a compartment at the side of the door, she knew that he would either give her what she wanted or a blaster bolt to the face.
Thankfully what he held up before her was a key fob, marked in shiny red code.
“Take this and leave at once. We shall not speak of what has occurred here, am I quite understood? Anything the Supreme Commander feels right in doing to you is not my concern. If you still remain alive on this ship tomorrow, I shall continue observing your performance as an officer and trust...that your conduct continues to be meticulous. That will be all.”
“Thank you, s-”
“That Will Be All, Lieutenant!”
Without another word, Rae Sloane gave a salute that took around half-a-second, turned and sped down the corridor to the Supreme Commander’s chamber.
The door slid shut and Wilhuff Tarkin placed a hand against it in exhaustion before fixing his mistress with a disapproving glare.
“A fine dratted mess you could have placed both of us in, Miss Daala.” he barked.
Natasi Daala was poised, cat-like, on the bed.
“Sorry, Willy...”
“And would you kindly not call me that?”
She tossed her hair.
“Are you angry with me?”
He looked uncertain. The creases in his brow started to ease.
“...somewhat.”
Her eyes gleamed as she smirked
“Do I need to be punished?”
The side of Wilhuff Tarkin’s lips creased slightly upwards.
“Well...it seems that may well be necessary. If you please...”
Taking a position, Natasi Daala gave an eager giggle as the Grand Moff opened a draw behind his desk.
Rae Sloane was still contemplating whether what she’d seen was sexy, disgusting or a bizarre combination of the two.
Natasi Daala was exceptionally hot, she’d always thought so.
But Tarkin? A man who, for as long as anyone cared to remember, closely resembled a freshly mummified corpse?
The coupling of such a thing?
It didn’t bear thinking about.
Only one thing bore thinking about to Rae Sloane’s mind.
She had what she needed from Tarkin.
And despite how it sounded, that was the easy part.
She found the door she was looking for. Large, wide and etched with the Imperial Seal.
Feeling her breath catch itself in her chest, she held up the key card.
Even its' beep sounded like a death knell.
The room was jet-black, ceiling to floor.
And in the centre was an enormous hexagonal dais.
She’d heard it called a ‘Qabbrat’ once but she wasn’t certain if that was the right word or what it meant in any case.
There was a hiss and billow of vapour as it began to open.
Rae felt her limbs turning to gel as the dais parted in two-pieces like a three-dimensional jigsaw puzzle and a seat in the centre spun round.
The silence in the room was intruded upon by an ominous breathing sound.
And a voice, deep and booming as a nebulous tempest.
“Lieutenant Rae Sloane...”
The woman saluted on the spot.
“Supreme Commander Lord Vader, sir.”
The obsidian-coloured terror known as Vader sat imperiously in his chair, that skull-like mask and helm pointed directly at her, empty orbs that resembled eyes boring into her heart.
“I had asked not to be disturbed under any circumstances..."
“Forgive me, sir.”
“Explain the reason for your presence, lieutenant. Immediately.”
Rae knew that at that moment, she would have preferred to be back before Tarkin, before Crodd, on the crags of Umbara or the underworld of Coruscant. Anything.
Here was a sea she had never swam before, full of monsters.
“Sir, on Ganthel, during the Borm-Thad Chapel Crisis, you told me in my first day of unofficial active service in the field of Imperial pacification that...you owed me a debt.”
There was a weighty pause.
Rae felt certain that any moment, she’d feel invisible fingers taking hold of her throat.
“I did.” The voice came again “To what purpose do you see fit to remind me?”
“Sir, if it is...convenient...and you find it does not impede standard protocol...I would like to call it debt...now.”
There was another pause.
Rae wondered if she’d die somehow of some unforeseen occurance before Vader gave her answer.
Quite frankly she thought she’d prefer it.
Slowly, like a leviathan breaching the depths, Vader stood, a dark titan before the young Lieutenant.
She knew she had to give no sign of fear. Or something would pounce.
At last, she got her answer.
“Continue. With...Utmost Care.”