She stood in the austere corridor, straightening her uniform jacket with simultaneous downward tugs, eyeing her rank insignia as it caught the light from above the gallery doorway she stood before. “Always room for more.” She said, without a care who may have been listening. Deciding she had kept those within the chambers waiting long enough, she turned the corners of her mouth downward and lifted her chin slightly, adopting the severe expression they would all expect. She slipped her code cylinder into a small notch at waist level in the access terminal and welcomed the inrush of expectation as the doorway slid open with a sharp hiss. “Waiting on me were you?”
A slamming of hands on a thick wooden table assured her that the ploy had the desired effect.
“Director Isard, for eighteen minutes you’ve kept us waiting. Eighteen minutes is infinitely intolerable. Is it your mindset that the Empire come to a screeching halt to wait on you?” The haughty voice of Mas Amedda called as she entered the room, the fleshy blue lethorns twitching as they dangled over his fists.
Ysanne Isard, elongated her form as she cracked a smile, striding formally toward the central seat in the middle of the sterile chamber. She had plenty of retaliatory comments prepared for this instance but knew the self-indulged Chagrian would simmer to the point of boiling over with anger if she simply said nothing, ignoring him outright.
“Gentlemen, if you would please take your seats...as you know we have a tight schedule to maintain.” Ysanne said in her most distinguished voice, one that conveyed power yet proffered thoughts of self-suggestion. Glancing toward Mas Amedda she offered a hand toward his own seat, prompting the Grand Vizier to quake on the spot, his lethorns vibrating as if they had a mind of their own. She waited just a few seconds longer as the Chagrian visibly fumed his displeasure, “If you prefer to stand Vizier.” She said tossing her hand in the air, a dismissive action that mirrored her nonverbal intentions. “In the interest of avoiding verbal sport, it is my ambition to merge both intelligence conglomerates into a single entity.”
Barton Coburn did his best to stifle a laugh, failing most admirably, “Director Isard, as I am Director on an interim basis only, I am sure my opinion will carry little to no weight. That being said, there is a damn good reason the two agencies have remained separate entities for as long as they have.” His gravelly voice echoed through the small auditorium chamber.
Janus Greejatus half stood with his hand raised, “Here here Director Coburn. Asserting control of the entirety of Imperial intelligence to a sole source is fool hardy at best, running contrary to what these institutions represent in the first place.”
Ysanne couldn’t stand the man, in fact she wasn’t sure anyone, outside of the Emperor, could. Slimy, grotesque, and inconsequential in her estimation. “Not all institutions can afford the luxury of operating outside the constraints of protocol Vizier Greejatus.” She said, addressing his comment directly, her eyes drawn narrow. “Now, I do understand the need for accountability through the various chains of command” she began anew, turning her attention toward Director Coburn, this time adopting a half smile as she widened her eyes, yet saw the head shake peripherally from Greejatus. She was in her element.
“This is all pointless banter; his excellency has already approved the appointment to Deputy Director Audenhoen.” Mas Amedda spoke up.
Ysanne smirked as she turned slowly toward the garishly clad Grand Vizier, “Providing he identifies and subsequently dispatches the source of the signal intrusion.” She said in return, her exotic eyes narrowing again as a lock of silvery white hair graced her cheek.
His reaction was priceless she thought. A mixture of both seething anger and startled surprise. “Rest assured Grand Vizier; I am very good at my job.” She made sure he saw the smirk this time.
Barton Coburn didn’t even attempt to hold back the laughter this time, “Your ambition knows no bounds Director, of that I am sure we can all agree. Much like your father I would add. I am sure he would be proud.” The comment was as genuine as he was.
Ysanne bit the inside of her lip to keep sudden surge of anger from lashing forth. ‘I am nothing like my short-sighted father.’ She thought, calming herself in the process. “My ambition is boundless Director Coburn, all for the good of the Empire.”
“Careful Director.” Kinman Doriana hissed the words, directed toward Ysanne, “now you’re sounding like Tarkin.”
His timing was perfect as she cast a glance toward him, wondering if there was indeed a script she had missed in her briefing. “An honor indeed to hold such esteem, thank you Advisor Doriana.” She said with a gracious bow in his direction. She was certain it was the furthest thing from a compliment, but she took it as one just the same. “Governor Tarkin, had he been granted his request from the start, would most definitely not have suffered such an incendiary demise.” She added, again silently thanking the sallow man that may have been attractive some forty years ago. “Gentlemen, that is the point.” She pressed the advantage as everyone else held their tongue. “The more time we spend bickering over shared power or satiating ego’s the closer our enemies come to succeeding in destroying what our Emperor has created.” She paused briefly, again knowing not one of them would argue the point on any level. “A consolidated intelligence bureau combining the might of MI and the scope of ISB would create the single largest well of knowledge this galaxy has ever seen.”
Barton Coburn coughed briefly, “Well said Director. I for one have agreed with your fundamental assessment from day one, whatever the case. There is no greater power than that of knowledge, and being able to act on that knowledge, however my misgivings lie with the benefactor of that power.” He paused to clear his throat, raising a finger to convey he had more to add. He tried in vain to resume his narrative, but a fit of coughing took him once again.
“Well now Barton, it almost sounds as though you’re endorsing this initiative.” Mas Amedda chimed in, Ysanne rolled her eyes as she turned to the interim Director fully.
Greejatus stood from his seat, “and what of Audenhoen? He seemed eager enough to take on the roll.”
“Janus the man was only eager to take on the field assignment, he’d hate this job in truth.” Coburn turned his wizened gaze upon the sickly man, after regaining his lost breath.
Janus only looked at him quizzically, opening his mouth as if to ask ‘why.’
“Why didn’t he turn it down outright? Because he’s no fool Janus, and I’ll leave it at that.” Coburn answered the unasked question, his skin flushing as he broke into a coughing spasm yet again.
Ysanne was positively ecstatic on the inside. Laying her initiative out in plain language and so freely to be heard by everyone within the room and those who were monitoring externally, the expected bickering was taking them all completely off topic. Whether or not she was able to lay the framework for direct control of the dearth of Imperial Intelligence would not be in doubt, she knew Palpatine would either see, or at the very least, hear her words. If there was any doubt to be sewn, it came from his own advisors and viziers. ‘Perfect.’ She thought, watching Doriana and Greejatus point fingers toward Coburn, Coburn himself seize in another coughing spasm as he turned red with anger, raising a fist in Amedda’s direction, spittle forming at the corners of their mouths. She watched as if in dream as all eyes were focused on one another and not her. The sounds of raised voices, outright shouting and personal threats faded as her internal smile broadened. ‘This is why you fail,’ she thought again silently to herself, ‘your all too concerned about legacy and not enough about progress.’ She finished the thought with a brief headshake. Her eyes drifted to the sole attendee that had yet to utter a word as the chaotic din subsided within her own mind. Seated in the upper most row, overlooking the rest sat Sate Pestage. A simple woven cream-colored robe, cowl pulled over his shaved head, blended in spectacularly with the stark white interior of the chamber. Although most of his face was hidden beneath the hood, Ysanne could see the smile on the man’s face and the telltale bob of his head. She did her best to contain her elation as she saw the up and down motions, the smile broaden, and the man clasp his hands together in mock applause. The sole benefactor of her admiration within the entirety of the Emperor’s cadre, he had covertly taken her in under his wing some time ago.
Ysanne broke her gaze from Pestage as the sounds of rushed anger, heated debate and spewing vitriol renewed their audio assault. “Gentlemen...Gentlemen.” She had to repeat with more gusto, “as if there were any question as to why our Emperor considered it best to eliminate the Senate.” She shouted with raised hands, the motion at least getting the attention of those gathered due to the hue of the uniform if not her words. “Do you hear yourselves?” She added as the bickering died down to slight murmurs, Coburn and Greejatus returning to their seats. “Instead of entertaining thoughts of a ploy and taking this initiative directly to the Emperor, I thought it best to bring the matter to this body for lively debate and insight rather than narcissistic sarcasm, finger pointing and flushing anger.” She said pointedly, the words sharp yet refined. She panned the men with her gaze, focusing both red and blue eyes on each of them individually, framed by silvery white locks of hair cascading over either cheek.
Greejatus was the first to speak, “Apologies for the afront mistress Isard.”
“Director, if you will.” She interjected. “I give you the respect of title, advisor, I expect that be reciprocated.” The words were icy daggers.
“Director.” He corrected himself, “I think I speak for those assembled that your initiative, although bold, is inherently dangerous in scope.” He began anew, adopting a calm demeanor and steady voice. “Certain elements will be construed as self-serving, regardless of intent for one. Two, certain elements within the purpose of ISB were installed to hold MI accountable and vice versa.”
Ysanne, although patience intact, stewed internally. ‘They can’t see the stars through the starfield,’ she thought.
“And what of Grand General Tagge.” Doriana interjected, “We cannot possibly entertain a solution without his input on the matter.”
Ysanne dared a glance toward the upper row again, catching the slight nod from Pestage. “He is occupied in the Kuat system presently.” She responded, noting the affirmative nod from Coburn in verification. ‘However, his return is doubtful.’ She thought, knowing she could never utter the words aloud. “His reasons lie outside my purview I am afraid.”
“In the interest of bringing things to a conclusion, I would only like to make one point.” Grand Vizier Amedda spoke up, raising himself from his seat. “As we are only a few months removed from the example set when what can go wrong ultimately does, let me remind this body that Advanced Weapons Research falls under the reach of MI.” Everyone nodded their implied understanding. “As a case in point, the late Lieutenant Commander also had stratospheric ambition, yet not the means to contain it.” He continued, struggling with the designation of rank Orson Krennic had not earned in his estimation. “Having had my own cross interpreted run-ins with his ego, the example was thus set for a sole individual possessing too much control over a single entity.”
Ysanne, smiled politely and nodded her understanding to the Grand Vizier, “yes, AWR continues to remain within our scope of responsibility, as it should, yet using Krennic as an example is most reckless indeed.” She was calculating and deliberate yet continued politely and eloquently. “The man thought himself above reproach and ultimately paid the price for ambition gone astray of objective.” She smiled both inwardly and outwardly.
Director Barton Coburn began to chuckle lightly to himself, crossing his arms before his chest. As she turned toward him, Ysanne saw the twinkle in his eye and knew at least one of them was beginning to understand. “Gentlemen, I think it best to reassess our particular objections to what we’ve been presented, bring this back full circle and align ourselves toward a similar cause.” His words seemed authentic enough to her ears, giving her enough confidence in her assumption. “Tarkin’s ambitions toward the completion and eventual operational status of the battle station always carried with them the underlying thread of Imperial justification first and foremost, in fact that is how he carried himself in all things.” Coburn continued. “I feel I can speak openly and for everyone on that matter.” He paused briefly, eyeing Ysanne quickly with a sly wink, “By the time he was granted autumnal oversight, Krennic’s damage had already been done. I believe what Director Isard’s request here, today, represents is an opportunity to redeem that past mistake….” He looked down briefly, knowing that all in the room would have appropriate clearances for what he would offer next but wasn’t sure if they should be presented any opportunity to debate openly. “I pause only to consider the ramifications of continuation while we remain potentially exposed to external source threats.”
For the first time Sate Pestage got up from his seated position and began descending the steps toward those gathered. “There is no need for concern within these walls Director, speak freely.”
Although not entirely sure how confident he was at the word of the Emperor’s most secretive advisor, Coburn also knew it was too late to reverse course. “As you all know fondly, there are innumerable Imperial projects at various levels of secrecy taking place as we speak. If they all fell under the same umbrella they could be managed within a static system of their own checks and balances while operating with the same efficiency.”
Ysanne, swiveled to face Mas Amedda, “That is the point Grand Vizier.” She said directly to him, watching as the lethorns trilled with a slight vibration, his own eyes burning with a rage she knew he couldn’t release.
“Let us not forget that Krennic operated under your father’s direction Director Isard.” Greejatus made a point to add.
Ysanne pulled the corners of her lips downward again, inclining her neck and turning her head slowly in his direction, looking down her nose at him. “Krennic is dead. And I am not my father.”
✦
A sharp crack of thunder far in the distance behind him, Conda began counting the seconds out in his mind, ‘one..two..three’ while picking up his pace, eyeing the glimmering lights that waved on the horizon before him. A bright flash lit the sky above, cascading feverish tendrils of electricity through its expanse in all directions and offered him a glimpse of his shadow in front of him, “twenty-three.” He knew he had time to seek shelter from the approaching storm, providing he calculated the distance to the settlement correctly. The boots the clone had provided, ‘Rex’ he remembered, were a damn sight better for traversing the hard packed ground below his feet than the issued Imperial boots that were never made for natural paths. What armor he had remaining had been removed along with the fibrous body suit and crammed into the pack slung over his back as he had changed into the proffered clothing once the ship had left. The ground had descended onto an expansive plain, the soil richer as his feet sank a few millimeters with every step. “Tallic grass.” He said to himself with a knowing smile. A severe crack pierced the silence that night brought with it to Raada as another thunderclap revealed itself. Instinctively he began counting the seconds again, reaching eighteen before the darkness was pierced with the brilliance of the finger like lightning again, his shadow mimicking the run he adopted. Having spent enough time on the plains of Toprawa he knew the hills and canyons only provided a slight buffer to the speed and ferocity of encroaching storms, once it found the plains it would resume its progression without hesitation.
The blades of the Tallic grasses ripped past the leggings of his pants, again Conda silently thanked the Togruta and clone alike for the gift as they would have sawed straight through the bodysuit he had previously adorned. His jog was turning into an all-out sprint as the thunder peeled the silence once again, “seven.” The lightning supplied him with a snapshot of his immediate surroundings, the Tallic grass giving way to more natural flora that he couldn’t identify. The plants were aligned in rows. Well cultivated rows. He made sure to align his own trajectory between the rows and fought his muscles to increase his speed. The lights from the settlement brighter, he was able to identify a shed of sorts that became his target as the thunder struck once again. “Three.” He was out of time. With a last chance effort, he pushed his aching calves past the point of excruciating pain and directly for the darkened entrance to what was indeed a shed. He felt a pressure against his chest, some invisible force that seemed to wish for him to get caught in the storm but just as suddenly as it was present it was gone. ‘The Silence.’ He thought and pushed past his breaking point to reach the symmetrically perfect outbuilding. All at once the wind slammed him from behind almost taking him from his frantic feet. A glance to his side revealing the planted rows bent almost parallel with the ground in protest. He spun his head forward again and jumped into the opening the shed provided in a clumsy mess then promptly rolled to his left to rest his back against the forward wall at the same moment a torrential horizontal rain pelted the metallic roof. The wind blowing through the doorway with such ferocity that the rainwater it carried with it peppered the ceiling above him. Conda tensed his muscles and pressed a hand to the wall directly behind him and the one adjacent to him on the left feeling only a slight rhythmic vibration on either from the storm outside, and with that he felt secure within the structure. A deafening crack of thunder and immediate show of bright lightning offered enough light to observe the interior of his shelter, a scattering of crude tools and small sacks on the other side of the enclosure, three meters away. His chest heaving in rapid succession, replenishing his lungs with fresh air, he began rubbing at his calves vigorously to prevent the muscles from cramping as he closed his eyes and rested his head against the wall. Although thoroughly winded and sore from head to toe from his efforts, he was sure he would be safe until the storm passed and felt more at ease seeing farming implements within his shelter and not weapons.
Although he didn’t regret his decision to stay on Raada, he found himself mentally exploring the possibilities remaining with that rag tag group of rebels could present.
Despite his misgivings, he could genuinely see himself fighting alongside the group. Fighting what was thought to be the crux of the question itself. He had only known desolate posts and cruel junior leaders but what they represented was insignificant in his estimation, insignificant to the whole of what those rebels fought against. He looked down in the darkness, feeling the clothing wrapped around his skin, the warm comfortable boots on his feet and sighed. A lament to the status he now found himself in, but, in earnest, one that spoke of the futility that either side in the galactic war represented. The thought of escape was as ingenuine as it was fleeting, war doesn’t provide for contingency, only a matter of deciphering what one will or will not do.
The sound of the pelting rains, the cracking of intense thunder and the brilliant flashes of chaotic lightning prevailed through the night. Conda, although desperately tired, continuously prevented himself from falling asleep. ‘At least the training was good for something.’ He mused as he rummaged blindly through the pack, feeling for something that could provide a damper to the cold that permeated his bones. His hand briefly touched something hard wrapped in what felt like incredibly soft leather before his palm wrapped around the crunchy material of a thermal blanket. Retrieving the blanket and pressing it around his sides he could feel the activation his own resonating body heat provided and felt a mediocre calm wash over him. He plunged his hand back into the pack to find the soft leather again, wrapping his hand firmly around the object, he pulled it out and brought it to his lap. Another crack of thunder and he resumed his countdown, waiting patiently for the expected lightning burst. “Ten.” Looking down quickly he saw the small bundle as his mind had described it to him, soft leather wrap tightly bound around a cylindrical item with leather straps at either end. As the light faded he plied his fingers to cinch away the straps and unfold the wrapping. Feeling with both hands carefully, he could identify the material was metallic, one open and one closed end, two rotating dials and a pad of sorts inlaid within the metallic cylinder. He dared not touch or press anything further without the aid of lightning or some other visual reference as he had no idea what lie before him. A roaring crack of thunder surprised him, sounding like a crashing starship as he simultaneously smashed his head into the solid wall behind him and slammed his thumb into the cylinder before him. The item came to life with its own light source, an electrical gating humming against the humidity and static energy within the air itself as the item hissed to life in his lap. A tubular beam of concentrated energy, burning a majestic purple hue, illuminated the entirety of the enclosure.
“Jedi!” A voice from his right startled Conda again causing him to fumble with the sabers hilt momentarily. Although he had never seen one, everyone had heard of them, causing a brief wave of panic to rush through him eclipsed only by his effort to keep from maiming himself with it. Once under moderate control, he spun to face the sound finding a small child standing in the doorway. ‘He...She.’ He couldn’t tell from his vantage, the child’s appearance, and oddity of his lights source.
He spread his fingers wide trying to locate the switch he inadvertently discovered earlier feeling like a farmer trying to load a proton bomb for the first time. Finally, he located the switch and deactivated the saber, returning the shed to darkness once again, “I am no Jedi child.”
“Did you kill one then?” The soft voice asked, its source had remained motionless.
“A Jedi? No. I found this.” He said truthfully, realizing the darkness had returned fully and the child was out in it, “Where are your parents and why are you awake?”
“My Da is esploring Ma says. She is sweeping. I heard a bang and waked up to look.”
Conda did his best to assess the response, ‘Dad ran off, mom is cleaning, and this child is fearless.’ He guessed at the age of what was clearly, now, a male child’s voice. “How old are you, four or five maybe?”
There was a pause before the child spoke again, “I dunno, I have seeing three snows here. But we were in space before.”
‘Ok, at minimum three.’ “The thunder woke you up?”
“Nope, not da storms. The ship.” The child responded.
Conda leaned forward to peer out the doorway, every muscle in his body fighting him for every centimeter of travel. With audible groans he swiveled precariously on to a knee to push himself up to his feet.
“You must be reeely old for so much sound to get up.” The child added, Conda stifling a laugh to keep the kid from diving into further insults.
“Not old, just very sore. Can you show me the ship?” Conda asked. A thought occurring to him. “Have you seen Jedi?”
“Yes. Sometimes Vossy comes...and so does his gurlfriend.” The child laughed in response.
“Kattu!” A frantic shout filled the air outside.
“Here momma!” The child responded turning his form from the shed, “I found a Jedi!”
‘Oh no...no no. That’s not good.’ Conda thought, sudden visions of myriad ways this could go wrong filled his mind. He quickly packed up everything he had displaced from the pack, forgot about being sore and approached the doorway at the child’s side as an adult Iktochi rounded the corner of the adjoining building and hurried to snatch the child’s hand. An old lantern in her thick fingered grip, he could finally see the child clearly, a small human male with shaggy brown hair and dirty scraps for clothing. “This is momma?”
“Get away from my son.” The Iktochi female threatened without levy.
Conda spread his palms wide, raising his arms somewhat while backing up a few steps into the soggy mess the rain had made of the ground. Although a dreary mist continued, the heavy rain had ceased.
“Kattu, the ships have come, we must leave.” She said to the child, tugging his arm with a hasty retreat. She stopped abruptly at the corner of the building, “You too.” She motioned to Conda. “We have to hurry; the Empire is coming.”
Although he had no doubts they would, he was amazed at how she knew and why they would respond so quickly. “What?” Was all he managed.
“No time to explain, either come with us or die.” It wasn’t phrased as a threat, which was the only reason he needed to follow her. “How are you here?” She asked.
‘What an odd question,’ he thought, but figured it was phrased purposefully. The only responses that came to mind were the beginnings of bad cantina jokes or thoughtfully crafted works of fiction that would prove unbelievable. The truth sounded even crazier the more he thought about it, so he decided to stop thinking about it. “I do not want to fight anymore.”
“Then you are in da right place. Come.” She said without asking him for any further information.
“Where are we?” He asked.
“It doesn’t matter because we are leaving.” She said quickly, ushering the three of them straight down the center of a road full of others sporting packs and personal belongings wherever they could fit them. Conda looked to either side of him as they increased their pace, seeing Twi’lek, Togruta, Sullustan, Devaronian, Human, Mon Calamari, Aqualish alike rushing onward toward a planet side cruiser parked at the other end of town. Women and children mostly through his estimation…. ‘refugees.’ He thought to himself. Blaster fire ensued from the end of town they had come. He spun to see several male sentients of differing species blasting away patches of the buildings, burning what was combustible, tossing thermal detonators into various homes….and dumping bodies? ‘What in the hell’ He almost said aloud as he watched the aliens and humans combine efforts to dump bodies of the dead at random intervals, bodies in armor. Dead stormtroopers. A fire team swept in from behind scorching everything that had already been destroyed in a blanket of fiery wrath.
“Move new guy or I’ll have them burn you too.” The Iktochi whispered into his ear.
“Kalla, Kattu’s father?” A newcomer interceded, tugging on the Iktochi’s shoulder as they all began ascending the boarding ramp to the Mon Cal freighter.
“No, my boyfriend, now mind your own damn business Ranga.” The Iktochi, Kalla Conda assumed, said in response.
“Thank you...Kalla.” Conda whispered into her ear as he pressed his head close to hers.
She didn’t respond only shrugged as she pulled on his arm with one hand while guiding Kattu toward a corner of the ship’s massive cargo hold with the other, Conda spinning his head like a swivel watching as everyone else was herded in behind them.
“Last!” He heard someone bellow from the rear as the actuators engaged on the cargo bay door and it began to slide closed, the ship taking to flight before it closed fully. A trembling vibration reminded him of the soreness of his bones as the repulsors fired in sync with the ships massive maneuvering jets, and he sat unceremoniously on the cargo bay decking, Kalla pressed up against him and Kattu on her lap. The unmistakable screeching roar of twin Ion engines racing past the outer hull coupled with continuous blasts of twin laser canon fire sent his panic levels into overdrive.
Kalla placed a hand on his knee, “It is going to be alright.” She said to him with a heavy accent, “we are going to a better place.”
Had she not continued speaking, Conda may have actually settled down but the promise of going to a better place sent his mind reeling and had it not been for the roaring TIE fighters fading into silence or the casual demeanor of those around him he was certain he would have lost all grip on his sanity.
Conda felt the gentle lurch as the ship entered zero gravity and watched, listening, as those that were casually speaking with relatives, one-time neighbors and friends began to seat themselves. Species ranging from across the galaxy in one place conversing over topics as though acquaintances of some time, how to transport Puffer Pigs, how to mate Callux, debating the soil constitutions after the introduction of Sparse Thickle Wart. These were all dislocated farmers he thought. Scanning the cargo hold he figured there were maybe forty to fifty individuals, including children. Then he remembered his sprint through the obvious crops of unknown flora, noting that they were growing far more on Raada than this group could consume on their own. Within seconds a faint whir resonated through the hull, and he braced himself against the wall and Kalla as the ship launched into hyperspace.
✦
Audenhoen tossed and turned in his bunk, involuntary ducks, and bobs to keep from being spotted by the eyes of his pursuer. His mind saw the shadow of an inverted head peering into his new hiding place. The darkness congealed into a thick mass as the shadow opened its own eyes staring directly at him.
“Arrrghh.” He let loose as he shocked himself awake, only to find that Areti was leaning over her own bunk, staring at him. Hair hanging loose under her head, inverted eyes boring into his own. “AARGHH!” He bellowed again.
“Sorry Sir, glad your awake.” Areti said quietly.
“Don’t ever do that again……” He said, waiting for his heart to stop racing circles in his chest. “Audy...for the last time Areti, it’s Audy.”
“Glad your awake..Audy..” She slipped her head back and rustled above him for a minute before descending the rails at the foot of the bunk. “How long have you been awake?”
“At least two hours, I’ve been going over some data and Seven has been most useful and cooperative.” She replied.
“Areti, I am sure that Sylde could provide a suitable workstation for you. You don’t need to remain at my side.” Audenhoen said through a brief yawn as he spun on his backside and planted his feet on the cool decking below. Resting his elbows on his thighs, he looked down at his feet as beads of sweat dripped from his forehead. The brief interlude of cold steel at his feet was fleeting at best as his mind convinced the rest of his body that it was still far too hot for any level of comfort.
“I am sure you are correct, Audy, I just wanted you to be the first one I tell if I find anything.”
“My endearing Areti….I had better be the first one you tell.” He laughed his response.
“On that note, Seven has helped me to understand this fleet a little better. Captain Evan Sylde, graduate of Keno.” She paused as she moved over to the workstation desk that wasn’t much wider than her data pad, “Sir...Audy, what is Keno? Seven was unresponsive on that particular query and I can find no record of it...anywhere.”
Audenhoen rocked back momentarily, squinting his eyes in thought, “Keno, Keno, Keno…” he repeated to himself a few times in thought. “Imperial relocation facility some years back, assisted displaced Force sensitives and their families. Part of a broader Project Aborah if memory serves.”
“Project Aborah…” Areti repeated as she feverishly tapped away at the pad in her hand. “Hmmm, no record of that either. Seven?” She asked the air turning her head slightly upward.
“My files are limited in that regard Mam.” Came the modulated response.
Audenhoen lifted an eyebrow in genuine surprise. ‘The inquiry should have at least yielded a generic response,’ he thought. Immediate skepticism gripped him firmly, ‘data wipes? What would be the point if there are those that remember?’ He turned his attention to Areti fully and brought a finger to his mouth, beckoning for silence. He then made several hand gestures with his right hand, Areti nodding her understanding. She followed his lead snapping off a trail of her own hand gestures, motioning an in and out pattern with index and middle fingers pressed together, tapping her lips, ‘I am sure they see but they can’t understand.’
Audenhoen nodded in agreement, insisting on the informal communication shortly into their partnership, ‘can’t ever be too careful.’ He mumbled to himself.
She flashed a series of patterns involving both hands after setting the data pad down, ‘Expungement is simply a means for plausible deniability.’ Audenhoen translated, although the gestures only conveyed crude basic to one another the deeper meaning had been implied between the two for quite some time. He tapped the corner of his eye in response, ‘I see. I understand.’ And he couldn’t think of a better explanation.
“Keno, Symphar, Danth and Y’gall, I can recall, were attacked, overrun, and ultimately destroyed by Rebel insurgents a few years ago. To my recollection, there were no survivors.” He said aloud making sure to add emphasis on the perpetrators, although even he had his doubts.
She nodded in understanding yet flashed out another series of gestures, ‘Rebels would not assassinate families. Ever.’
“I know.” Was all Audenhoen said, locking his gaze upon hers, communing his concerns without words or gestures, knowing they were understood, and more importantly, reciprocated. He motioned with left and right index finger converging then thumbed toward the door.
“Let’s find out then Audy.” Areti said with an unforced smile as the two stood and left the bunk room for the sweltering heat of the corridor and aft command center.
As the pair entered the warmest room either had ever been in they were both witness to the largest conglomeration of organized activity they had ever seen collectively.
“Ah, Deputy Director, Miss Sigurn, welcome to our hive of knowledge.” Captain Sylde said aloud with a head turned toward them, “It seems your assessment was warranted Miss Sigurn.”
Areti looked around the room, noting components to the IGV that were well known and others that were out of place entirely. A large holographic representation of a planet swiveled slowly at the far end of the room, looming large between three massive data screens trailing text and image alike. “Raada?” She asked.
“The same.” Sylde confirmed before motioning toward a human female with short cropped blonde hair, a headset plastered to her head and a loose fitting informal black jumpsuit cascading her medium frame.
“Hung, you’re the eyes. Telemetry and optics on your mark.” The blonde woman said.
“Hung?” Audenhoen asked. “Chenyu Hung?”
“Again, the same.” Sylde responded nonchalantly.
Audenhoen’s expression reflected sincere respect and admiration, Areti turning toward him for some form of explanation. “Captain Chenyu Hung, decorated SD Commander following multiple near impossible air to ground insertions and victories. The man is the best low-level Commander to ever come out of Prefsbelt.”
Areti was a mad dash of activity upon her data pad, not wanting to sound the fool asking what low level meant. Her display recorded over a dozen instances of low altitude tactical configurations that should have been impossible with a Star Destroyer.
“Tagata Taia is his.” Sylde furthered the information with a motioning hand toward the far-left data screen, Areti understanding it to represent the assets at the Captains disposal highlighted green, however most of the names represented were highlighted yellow.
“Acclamator?” Audenhoen laughed, “genius!”
“Updated well beyond Imperial regulation mind you but yes, Acclamator.”
Again, Areti turned toward Audenhoen with a quizzical look, Walker shaking his head slightly. “Used primarily for ground force deployment in the past, enhanced sub surface shielding, reinforced under side armor plating and enough armament beneath to scour cities from a planet’s surface at close proximity.” Audenhoen laughed audibly again, “absolutely genius, marrying those two together Captain.”
Sylde didn’t respond immediately, his gaze centered on the holographic image, “Bev give me Herrell and Broocol in support, low orbit.”
“On it Sir.” the blonde woman said with a hand over her microbead, removing the hand she continued into it, “Kajg, Sullen. Low orbit support, Broocol invert.”
“Affirmative Sidious.” Came immediate responses over the cabin wide comm.
“And Tacnet to boot.” Audenhoen wasn’t even trying to hide his awe over the fluidity and connectedness of the action taking place.
“The idea was not mine.” Sylde commented, his gaze still affixed to the holoimage, “coupling Hung with the Tagata Taia...it was his.” He finished, turning his gaze toward Audenhoen. Walker was impressed, further than his imagination could have taken him as the implication hit home.
He turned to Areti, knowing full well she would have that damn bizarre look on her face again, but she surprised him this time, “Granting the ship’s Captain choice of his own charge implies trust in one’s subordinate and optimization of the asset itself.” She pursed her lips and nodded. A slim smile spreading across Audenhoen’s own features.
A hand playing at his chin, Sylde stepped closer to the blonde woman, Bev. “Ground zero that heat signature and give me full radial sweep one hundred kliks out.”
“Copy that Hung?” Bev asked.
“On it.” The reply was, again, immediate.
For Audenhoen’s benefit, Sylde offered a hand forward toward the holoimage as it displayed real time deployment. Small orange squares fanned out from the large red circle, ‘presumably the Tagata Taia’ Walker thought. The central data screen snapped to view displaying widespread fires, catastrophic damage, and debris within every pixel.
“We are seeing what Hung is seeing presently.” Sylde informed them.
Audenhoen walked forward slowly, taking in the scope of the damage displayed before him but also to affirm sound footing amongst the cables and wires splayed across the floor. The closer Hung was able to get to the damage the more details emerged. Scorched armor, devastated dwellings, crashed TIE fighter debris all surrounded by burning crops of some sort.
The Tacnet crackled to life, “Sir, radial teams reaching terminus of parameters. Readings conflict between Ion trace, plasma trail, coax elements and hydranium contrail. Elements and signature traces both Imperial and non. Team three on screen.” The voice proclaimed, quick, concise, and measured. ‘Hung’ Audenhoen knew.
The center screen resolved to display several depressions in the ground, symmetrical and unnatural, the ground atop them fresh and dark even in the artificial illumination of the cammed troopers head lamp.
“Graves.” A younger man acknowledged, Audenhoen scanning the crew to find the voice’s source. Reddish hair, smooth complexion and knowing eyes shone toward the ship’s Captain, Sylde nodding in his own acknowledgement.
“Identify trooper.” Sylde spoke into the Tacnet link.
“Arlen Corr. Pretty sure Prit is correct sir, exhume?” The video display shifted as the trooper spoke. ‘Non designation identity? Surely Sylde can’t remember everyone’s name.’ Audenhoen thought, flashing a glance toward Areti who only threw her hands up slightly.
“Arlen, yes please.” Sylde responded.
“Copy Sir.”
“Ground zero Sir.” Hung updated his commander, the right screen now resolving to display ground level inspection teams extinguishing fires and tooling smoldering metal.
“This was one hell of a battle sir. No survivors I would wager.” Another voice entirely chimed in over the Tacnet.
“Ion trace, plasma wake and hydranium contrail would prove otherwise trooper. Someone exited very much intact and in one hell of a hurry.” Sylde disagreed.
“Sir, Arlen. Fresh graves.” The initial trooper informed everyone, their attention once again returning to the center screen. The body looked like it had just gone to sleep, complexion still supple and full of color. The uniform was that of a Naval Lieutenant, pristine save the blaster scorch and accompanying hole in his chest. His arms were crossed over one another.
“Edges of the dig sight are hard as duranium Sir, this must have taken some time or with many hands. Fiber sample?” Arlen asked. Audenhoen began to wonder what sort of troopers specialized in forensic sciences.
“Yes please Arlen.” Sylde answered with a hand on his hip, the other playing with the stubble at his chin. Areti arrived at Audenhoen’s side as they both watched the trooper cut a small swatch of the Lieutenants uniform away from the mortal wound.
“What the hell is going on here?” They both heard Sylde comment, spinning in unison to see he had crossed an arm across his chest propping up the other as he wiped his mouth, obviously deep in thought.
‘My question precisely.’ Audenhoen thought, turning his gaze back to the central screen as Arlen was panning his cam to reveal thirteen more of the fresh graves.