Lieutenant Ashsca Screold
The Kuat system was a wonder to behold. Despite having spent my formative years in the Core, I had never visited the heart of Imperial ship production. As the heart of manufacturing in the Empire, the world produced more goods than a dozen other Core worlds. It truly was a modern galactic marvel.
Somewhere out there, far closer to the massive orange star that dominated the system, was Kuat-IV, or simply Kuat. The system namesake, a green world ringed by a massive collection of shipyards and production facilities. The massive forms of several Star Dreadnoughts filled the larger bays, at least from what we could see through the Conqueror's scopes. Unfortunately, we were not directed to the heart of the system. A comparatively smaller yard at the fifth planet Gortis was our destination, though even then it would put anything at my homeworld of Aargau to shame.
A resupply bay became the resting place of Tullius's fleet, meant to hold us until room could be made at the large repair station nearby. More ships - largely support vessels but with some Star Destroyers - were already being attended to. I watched ours drift into the docking clamps with an experienced eye, having made this manoeuvre a hundred times before.
"Helm, cut the engines and activate reverse thrusters." I ordered, listening to our speed being reported by another officer. The Conqueror cut her speed considerably, the ruined bow drawing closer and closer to the hull of the station.
"They have us." Another officer reported, signaling that the tractor beams were guiding us the rest of the way into the docking clamps.
"Good. Cut thrusters and put the reactor into stand-by." I ordered, stepping away from the forward viewscreen and back into the depths of the bridge. I was quick to add: "And keep the communications array online."
I was not going to allow a repeat of N'zoth; we would be able to speak with the rest of the fleet no matter what. By the time I reached the communications officer, I had expected our damage report and requests to be forwarded to the station we docked with. I was surprised then to find the man appearing moderately alarmed, tapping away at his console.
"Station Control isn't accepting our credentials." He explained, leaning away from his screen to address me. I frowned, moving up alongside his station.
"What about the Captain's?"
"Nothing."
I pushed off the man's chair with a sigh, crossing my arms as I tried to think on what to do next. There had never been a situation where the Captain's credentials had been outright refused before. Indeed, the need to present them without the rest of the fleet present had been rare in the first place. Naturally without Tullius himself present, smoothing over this problem would prove a bit more challenging.
"Has Commander Harand been informed?" I asked, speaking at last. The man shook his head, so I took the initiative on that front. At my order, the main bridge was connected to the secondary - giving me easy access to the man.
"Commander Harand, this is Screold. We have a situation. Station Control is not accepting Captain Tullius's identification."
"... Have you presented the fleet credentials?" Harand's typically bored voice responded, sounding as if he were speaking to a slow child. I fought down a scowl, but turned my attention to the operator. The man was already tapping away… and then he frowned.
"Uh…" The man articulated.
"What is it?" I demanded, my patience already thin. He blinked and seemed to think for a moment before responding.
"They are requesting the commanding officer of the ship, sir." The man offered at last, appearing as bemused as I now felt. It was not unheard of for a ship Captain to speak directly through the communications rather than using intermediaries - Tullius certainly did it all the time - but to request the Captain specifically? That bode poorly. I fought back the frown that wanted to grow on my face, patting the headrest of the operator's chair.
"Forward it to Harand."
"Aye, sir." The technician did as ordered and the line closed on our end. I pushed off, deciding to busy myself rather than worry about whatever was wrong. There was always work to do; doubly so given the Conqueror's state. Yet despite my attempts at distraction, I could not help but worry. These last two months had shown that danger could come from any angle. I could not allow myself to relax.
Ten tense minutes passed and then the communications officer was roused from whatever task he was working on to approach me. His bemusement had become naked worry as he interrupted my conversation with Matread.
"Sir. Commander Harand is on his way to the bridge."
"Rius? On the bridge?" Matread asked, his tone amused. "Rare is the day."
However, when I glanced at the rotund man I saw anything but amusement on his face. His bushy moustache almost seemed to bristle with nerves as he drummed one meaty hand against his gut. I pulled my attention from Matread's face, addressing the crewmember and dismissing him. The man saluted and walked off and only when he was away did I let my nerves return.
"The station wanted to speak to Tullius." I explained, quick to catch Matread up. "I passed them off to Harand. Now he's coming here? Should I contact the Colonel?"
Matread raised a hand to slow my growing panic, that same hand moving to stroke his moustache back down.
"Patience. Let us not escalate unnecessarily; Tullius' unbridled aggression is not a lesson to follow." I frowned at his words, but I found it more difficult than usual to chide him for his comments. Matread continued. "If we are fortunate, Harand merely wishes to warn us of an incoming inspection off-the-record. Even if we are not, facing off against Kuat's security forces is a far different beast than raiding an under-defended space station or backwater planet."
I bit my tongue, recognising the truth of his words and reeling in the kneejerk reaction. Our time in the Slice felt like a lifetime ago, proof of how these recent events had shaped my perspective. A career spent dreaming of the day I would fight a real war… and now I found myself jumping at every shadow.
"I suppose we will have to wait." I grudgingly admitted, loosening the fist I had not realised I was making.
"And so we shall." Agreed Matread - and there was not an ounce of mockery in his tone. He turned his gaze from me to the holotable in the rear bridge section and its display of the Conqueror.
Harand appeared minutes later and his state did little to buoy my spirits. His grey uniform was disheveled; evidence of the haste with which he had run all the way here. His hat was askew, making the mop of his hair appear wild and untamed. His eyes, typically dark and sunken, seemed alight with an animalistic panic as he raked his gaze over the bridge. Even his pale face took an especially dour pallor as he approached, hands roving hurriedly to straighten his uniform and appear presentable. He was only partially successful, though that action was aborted when he reached us.
"I have already called Milgern from the Intimidation, but we need to discuss this. Now."
Then without another word, he turned on his heel and slunk into the connected conference room. I glanced again at Matread, but the older man's gaze was glued to Harand's back. I swallowed the dryness in my throat away, turning and calling out to another officer. Passing command off to him, Matread and I made our way into the conference room. The door slammed shut behind us, casting it into a dimness greater than even Tullius' typical for the rear bridge. This changed as the harsh lights came to life, nearly blinding me with their intensity.
Harand had claimed Tullius' usual seat at the table's head, but the nervousness in his movements stalled me from offering a reprimand. Harand's usual mannerisms - the smarmy and self-superior tone - were missing. He tapped nervous fingers on the table. Impatience and panic seemed to radiate off of him in waves.
Matread and I sat, a seat down from him on either side. Barely had I taken my seat before Harand spoke.
"Arrowhead Command has been dissolved. Harrsk turned against the Empire and carved a Warlord state out for himself. All members of the command staff, including Tullius, have been declared traitors to the Empire."
The frankness with which he spoke stunned me into silence, such that I could not formulate so much as a sound. I merely… stared. Matread was not so silent.
"When?" He asked immediately, a seriousness to his voice that I had only heard in the heat of battle.
"Not long after Endor, I assume. Harrsk had not so much as made it back to the Core before he decided to play the renegade." Harand reported. "The station officer did not elaborate much beyond that. However, I was informed that they have already contacted the Admiralty regarding our presence. It is only a matter of time before we are visited by one intelligence agency or another."
"But… But that can not be. Captain Tullius is no traitor." I interjected, finding my voice. Realising the naivety of my words, I was quick to clarify. "The Conqueror's databanks prove as much."
"The ISB or I-I will not care." Matread pointed out.
"The Admiralty will. A loyalist amidst a sea of traitors?" I countered rapidly, but it was Harand that attacked my position next.
"Or an example that could be made in place of a traitor that they can not reach." Harand said, calmer now and steepling his fingers on the table. "We are in uncharted space here, my friends. I am concerned for Tullius' fate - whatever that may be. He was a good commander, but that does not mean we need to go down with him."
What I was hearing… I was dumbfounded.
"I can not believe this. You? Of all people? You served with him for the longest!" I snapped.
"And indeed I am honored to have called him a confidant for these years, but I have a family. As does Matread. You may not realise it now Lieutenant, but that colours your perspective on these things. In battle, there is a greater degree of clarity. But if I can ensure my survival, then I will not hesitate to do so." Harand's words, spoken so calmly, could almost make me forget that every moment of disdain I felt for him over these years was not completely justified. He wasn't done, however: "And if you believe Tullius does not make these decisions, despite his stance on politics, then you clearly never learned what became of his previous superior."
This I was aware of, if only partially. Tullius' time in Arrowhead Command was one I knew, but his jump from the Relentless to the Conqueror had always been a question mark in the back of my mind. Tullius' refusal to speak on it had been enough for me not to bring it up, but I knew that by the time Tullius left the Relentless had a new Captain. I was left ruminating long enough that Wyatdrew found his tongue again, addressing Harand.
"What are you proposing?"
"We place everything on Tullius." He answered immediately. "Everything. Every action, every order, every decision. Any recommendations we might have made and decisions we might have helped make? They never happened. Or Tullius pushed us toward them. For better or for worse, we ensure Tullius is the only name that people remember regarding this series of events. And hopefully we will just be cycled into a new fleet, a footnote in an I-I report with an extra few agents assigned to the staff."
"You will have a hard time convincing Milgern that this is the right choice." Wyatdrew said, adjusting in his seat with a grunt.
"Mils is a smart man. Honest, but smart. He will see where the wind is blowing."
"I can not believe this. You are throwing Tullius in front of the speeding tram." I muttered, shaking my head.
"There is always the possibility he is found to be innocent of these charges. If that ends up being the case, then he looks all the better." Wyatdrew offered, yet I sensed no hope of that outcome in his voice.
It was with considerable guilt that I did not run to the nearest Naval Intelligence officer and shout Harand's plan from the Aargau corporate spires. Whatever good it would have done, I would have at least continued to prove my loyalty to the Captain - even through these challenging times. However, Harand's words - and damn him for them - resonated with me more than I wanted to admit. I was not blind to the overzealousness of Imperial justice, nor was I blind to the fact that the Emperor's death would worsen their discretion further. If the Captain was declared a traitor then there was little we could offer beyond our reports to clear his name. The ISB or I-I or NavInt would have his head and that would be that.
That being said, my lack of action was not made any easier when Talik - the unofficial head of Tullius' security detail - managed to finally get back in contact with us. It was bad luck that I happened to be on the bridge at that time when the communications officer called me over.
"Imperial Center, sir. Identification codes for 'CT-8812'." The officer announced, accepting the call at my nod.
"Conqueror, this is CT-8812. Identification code to follow." The familiar voice of a Clone came through the communicator, doing little to differentiate itself from any other trooper. Still, the codes matched - thus allowing a secure communication line to be opened.
"Recieved, CT-8812. Report."
"Arrival at IC was successful but there were complications. VIP was arrested, forces unknown."
My heart plummeted to my feet at that declaration, those words forcing me to face the reality of Harand's declarations. I remained silent for a moment, just short of making the trooper fear he had lost connection, before responding. A moment to… process the news.
"Understood, trooper. Any communication from High Command?" High Command, the Admiralty, whoever was giving orders now.
"Not at this time. Secondary VIPs two through four have also left. They were unharassed. Awaiting further orders."
There was a hardness to his voice, a determination that I wished I held. Given the absolute loyalty and insane aggression Talik and his ilk had shown since Wrath, I was of no illusion that they would not assault the first place they suspected Tullius of being held. There was little consideration for their safety; they were Stormtroopers, many of them were born for this. Talik was not really asking for orders, he was asking for permission. Permission to find Tullius or die trying, which was the more likely outcome.
It is to my great shame that I did not immediately give the order. That order would consign the trooper to his death and myself once it was discovered who approved such an action. A fruitless display of resistance, but one that would have cemented - at least in my eyes - my loyalty to Tullius.
"Stand-by and await further orders." I did not give the command he was waiting for. "The Admiralty will handle this."
Talik did not hesitate, saluting and accepting my command without hesitation. We were of different arms of the military, but as far as he was concerned I was an extension of Tullius' will. The communication was closed and the matter was put to rest. I reported it to Matread, Harand and Milgern. Perhaps it was merely a guilty imagination playing tricks on me, but I felt only Milgern seemed to have paused at the news.
Unfortunately, Tullius' fate was the least of Milgern's concerns. For while the Intimidation was largely undamaged from the battles since Endor, it fell prey to a far more insidious enemy.
The days immediately following Tullius' arrest were no less busy. With the fleet now in perpetual limbo, I focused on getting the Conqueror into working order. Unfortunately, all this served to do was reveal the undeniable truth I had refused to accept: the Conqueror would never recover.
At least, she would not be allowed to recover. I was not very knowledgeable about shipbuilding, but even I was aware of the frankly terrifying feats of engineering Kuat Drive Yards was capable of. Entire pressurised habitats to build Star Destroyers, producing Star Dreadnoughts on an unimaginable scale and speed. Perhaps Rendili was faster and Corellia was more flexible, but no world could match the sheer scale Kuat operated at. Repairing the Conqueror was merely a matter of time and resources. Large sections of its armour, hull and superstructure would need to be cut away and wholesale replaced. I might have even laughed when Matread made a comment about how much of the Conqueror would still be our Conqueror, were it not for the disinterest KDY showed. Ordinarily the Fleet would be the ones to fund that effort, but even the Kuati representatives I spoke with did not seem interested when I floated the idea of the ship joining the local fleet. What they were interested in was its base parts - resources, armour plating, weapon systems. They wanted to strip the Conqueror for parts to make new Star Destroyers, doubtlessly sold at a premium to the Imperial Navy.
I wanted to reject the notion out of hand. My entire career - nay, my entire adult life - had been spent aboard this ship. Unfortunately, the decision was not up to me. My authority was derived, but without my benefactor Harand became master of both fleet and ship. He was leading KDY along, waiting for the decisions from Navy Intelligence and the Admiralty. It was entirely possible that my… that this ship would be torn apart. Not in the fields of battle as it deserved, but on a KDY assembly line.
I stood in the main hangar bay, for once devoid of Colonel Maab's loot. The majority of the supplies had been moved to a rented storage bay on the station we were docked with, to make room for TIE Fighter racks and repair stations. Large, spherical repair drones - essentially droids with simple programming that could also be controlled remotely via the repair bay techs - drifted through the shields separating the bay from the void beyond. An engineer was standing next to me, speaking in a low, droll voice that made him difficult to listen to.
"-Explosion sent chunks up into the deck directly above the fighter hangar. Typically, we would cut the floor away in pieces. However, since the floor is already going to be replaced wholesale, we can do the same to the ceiling. Of course, the power lines that ran between the decks will need to be monitored as well, as the damage has likely spread beyond the impact locations here, here and-" He continued, gesturing to a datapad.
Across the bay, through the void and into the opposite hangar, I saw some of the damage suffered by the Conqueror. A bombing run had opened its floor to the vacuum of space. Forty-seven crew lost their lives instantly, sucked out through the hole. Our best estimate, in any case. Everyone who had been in the hangar died, barring a landing TIE Fighter pilot; He only had his legs half crushed when the craft suddenly slammed itself into the ground and then slid out of the hangar. There were probably more deaths, but in the heat of battle you never really knew where everyone was. We weren't even completely sure of the total deaths and in all likelihood we never would be.
My communicator chirped to life, drawing my already wavering attention from the droning engineer. The whine and hum of floating droids was too loud to take a call, so I excused myself from the conversation and moved into the hallway. It was quieter out there, so I took the call.
"Screold here." I said into the small communicator, closing the door to the hangar bay. A male voice came through, one I immediately recognised as the third shift's bridge sensor officer.
"Lieutenant Screold, this is the bridge. The Intimidation is disembarking from Gortis station."
"Okay." I said, confused as to why I was being told this. "Have they been cycled off repairs?"
The Intimidation's damages were expected to be minor and its time spent under Kuati care was expected to be short.
"No. They are leaving the Fleet, sir."
What?
"What?" I asked, my words hissed out between my teeth. "On whose orders?"
"Unknown, sir. Commander Matread has the bridge at this time. He is attempting to contact Commander Milgern."
"I will be there in fifteen." I snapped, before ending the communication. I took off down the hallway, racing for the bridge.
I made it in ten. A passing tram had to be commandeered, but I reached the bridge. Harand still wasn't present, so I was left to worry and theorise with Matread. However, the arrival of the final officer heralded only more concerns. Harand had come from the repair station, locked in endless meetings with Naval Intelligence and KDY representatives.
Two hours after I arrived, though I held my tongue.
"This is not unexpected." Harand opened as we gathered around the conference table behind the bridge once more. "With Arrowhead dissolved, it is likely that the fleet will be dispersed into new battlegroups. The Intimidation was taken by one Admiral Lon Isoto, slated to defend the Bilbringi Shipyards if I understand correctly. Hardly a horrifying deployment."
"That's it, then? After all this, we just get sent our separate ways?" I wondered, more than a little saddened by the thought. While I was not close to too many officers outside the Conqueror, many of them had served alongside us for years - ever since I joined the bridge in any case.
"Not us, per say." Harand said, waving a hand. "The crews will likely be kept the same, though I expect Tullius will be replaced by a new Captain rather than any of us being raised to the position. Better to keep ship cohesion and all that. Though, that does raise a question."
Then, with the same hand he was waving, Harand gestured to the seat closest to the door - separated from Harand, Matread and I.
"Why are you still here, Milgern?"
It was rare I saw Milgern in person. He liked to attend Tullius' meetings via hologram, so he had been on the Conqueror more these last few days than I remembered over the last six months. It was for that reason that I needed to be reminded of how large he was. Not in the same vein as Matread; Milgern was tall and muscular. A small, childish part of my brain preferred the word 'jacked'. In the interesting characters that made up the upper echelons of Tullius' staff, Mils Milgern was an outlier in that he looked like a Stormtrooper trapped in a Naval Officer uniform. Which made his present state all the more bizarre, as his muscular form seemed to deflate into the seat he had claimed. A forlorn look passed over his clean shaven face - a loss so intense that it gave me pause when I had first seen it. Beyond supposedly speaking to Harand on his arrival, Milgern had not said a word since.
Once he was spoken to however, Milgern seemed to return to himself. His pale face considered us for a moment before his tongue darted out to wet his lips. He straightened somewhat, as if remembering his discipline, though it did little to chase away the abject misery that made up his expression.
"I was informed that my services were no longer required." He announced, his voice soft and defeated. "That I was… under investigation for my association with Tullius."
Milgern had lost his ship, my heart went out to him. But the revelation he told us set a new worry in my mind, one voiced by Harand.
"You?"
"No, not just me. And not in so many words. But Admiral Isoto seemed… Amused. He hinted we were associates of Tullius; that we were confederates."
In other words, traitors. Whatever fate Tullius now faced was one we would as well. A small part of me was vindicated that my treason against my Captain was meaningless, that even my inaction would not save me from such a fate.
My communicator blinked, but I ignored it. My heart was pounding as I tried to keep my breathing level, something Harand failed at out of hand.
"What?!" He snapped, rising from his seat. "Us?"
"Weren't we expecting that?" Matread asked, sounding and looking far calmer than the rest of us. "We were always going to be under scrutiny for whatever they accuse Tullius of."
"Yes, but not as associates." Harand hissed, falling back into his seat. He glared at the head of the table, where Tullius' usual chair sat empty - as if to blame the absent officer for these troubles. I frowned at such an action, my opinion of Harand dropping further. Some old comrade of Tullius he turned out to be.
Am I any better?
My frown deepened, ignoring now the sound that came from beyond the meeting room. Harand argued for a bit longer, with Matread and a largely unresponsive Milgern. I did not add my voice to this; I had nothing to add. Nothing to think about, merely falling into my own cycle of depressive hopelessness. If this Isoto was correct, it was only a matter of time before some intelligence agency came for us. Then what? Execution? Worse?
I sighed, dropping my head and fighting the urge to run my hands through my hair.
It was at that moment that the door to the meeting room opened. Already matching the dim rear bridge beyond, there was no blinding flash. Harand rose, but whatever he was going to say died on his tongue as his face paled. I turned to see who had interrupted the meeting, only to shoot out of my seat as well.
"Does no one answer their comlinks anymore?" The distinctly displeased words of a typically impassive tone seemed to silence both the conference room and the bridge beyond.
Captain Rivejer Tullius stood in the doorway, hands behind his back as he considered us all with a piercing glare. At his back was a team of Stormtroopers and tall, black-clad Deathtroopers, but it was the man himself that drew my attention. He appeared… entirely unaffected. Normal, as if he had only stepped off the Conqueror to stretch his legs, rather than having been detained by some intelligence organisation.
My eyes were drawn to his chest, for it was there that the only outward difference was obvious. Eight squares were arranged on a plaque on his breast - four red, four blue.
Commodore Rivejer Tullius stood in the doorway, looking quite unamused.
Corporal Lark Gibbens
The interior of the Escapade was a damned maze. Never mind how confusing Imperial ships were, the Ssi-whatever built theirs with looping and curved tunnels that seemed to go nowhere consistently. Nothing was labeled either, which just made life all the easier. Half the time, squads needed to be led around by the p'w'eck, though a quarter of that time they couldn't understand a word of basic. It made quelling the latest protest or riot difficult when the guide needed to consult a protocol droid, of which there were only six.
I turned another corner and groaned - the lights were out in this section. Which meant it was somewhere in the back of the ship - where the restricted areas were. I fiddled with the flashlight attached to the side of my helmet, making it flicker to life and cast the hallway into light once more. Muttering under my breath, I continued down. A few minutes later, I took another turn at an intersection - occasionally fiddling with my communicator. My calls for assistance went unanswered, hitting feedback. Of course, this ship was also a communications nightmare. The whole ship ran off a big Army Communication Array sitting in the middle of the bridge, but it struggled the further back you went into the ship.
I looked down the right corridor as I turned left, finding more featureless hallways. I should have been paying attention, because I crashed into something and fell back flat on my rear. I squawked quite unmanly like and fumbled with my carbine, but my alarm was unwarranted.
A large, thin reptilian had fallen the other way. Of course, large was relative - I was taller than it and I wasn't a particularly tall man to start with. It was a p'w'eck, one of the alien slaves of the Ssi-Ruuk who had been maintaining the ship on behalf of Thawne.
"Damn it all, scared the life out of me." I spat, getting to my feet and adjusting the sling on my carbine. The p'w'eck got up as well, speaking in whatever their native tongue was while adjusting the straps of tools it was carrying. A mix of whistling and occasional clicks that were indecipherable to my ears. However, despite their alarming appearance, they knew this ship better than anyone.
"Hey, you know how to get back to deck four?" I asked hopefully. The p'w'eck just stared, and I felt my hope decline. I held up four of my fingers for emphasis, repeating the question. The p'w'eck stared at my fingers, then at its own three-fingered claw. It looked me in the face again and whistled something else.
"... I have no idea what you are saying."
The p'w'eck merely cocked its head in response. I was about to speak again - to say what I didn't really know - when the hiss of a door opening somewhere behind the p'w'eck drew both of our attention. I peered around it, but saw nothing.
"You here alone?" I asked, but the p'w'eck naturally did not respond. I sighed and walked around the alien engineer, hoping whoever that was could be more help to my efforts. The clatter of claws on the deck told me the p'w'eck was following.
The source of the noise became obvious when I found an opened blast door. It was short, with a right turn at the end. A light gleamed somewhere through the doorway beyond. I turned to the p'w'eck, holding up a hand for it to wait.
The alien looked at the hand then held up its own and I swore I could almost see amusement in its beady eyes. I sighed, then stepped forward. The hallway entered into what appeared to be an amphitheater, like the types used for plays back home. However, instead of hand-carved stages and actors in dizzying clothes, there was merely a large table at the bottom of a steep decline. Stains covered the entire lower level, old dark spots of what I quickly realised was blood. Knelt in the center, head bowed, was a humanoid figure.
I realised what this was quickly, as did the p'w'eck as it gave a low hiss - almost sounding fearful. This was one of the chambers used by the Ssi-Ruuk for their horrific religious practices - mass sacrifices supposedly to power their droid war machines. The bodies had been moved, but this far back into the ship Thawne had decided the effort was wasted.
The sound of the worried p'w'eck roused the figure, who turned quickly to spot us. They were revealed to be a young woman, shrouded in a flowing dark robe. Though her skin was pale, she seemed to be of good health - one of the wealthier refugees, I assumed. I did not recognise her, but I also didn't have the privilege of guarding the upper levels so that wasn't surprising.
"Hey! What're you doing down here? This is a restricted area." I snapped after our staring contest lasted more than a few seconds.
Immediately, she smiled - ruby lips curling into an almost kind expression. She pulled back her hood to reveal more of her face. Her short, blonde hair was clean and neat, further betraying her high-born status. It made her presence here all the more bizarre.
"My apologies, trooper. I got lost." She offered immediately, her voice soft.
"Hell of a place to get lost." I muttered, eyes drifting over where she had been knelt. An especially filthy area of blood and who knew what else - I could only guess what her interest was in it. "Then I guess you wouldn't know the way back?"
Her smile remained, but she gave a sad shake of her head - earning another curse from me.
"Pity. Still, you shouldn't be down here. The refugees were warned about that, so I know your lot were as well."
"That won't be necessary, trooper."
"The Commander'll-" I started, though there was a strange pressure on my mind, the need to agree with her. The p'w'eck nervously whistled again, but this entire exchange was cut short as my communicator came to life.
"Echo-3-3, this is Echo-3-1, come in."
Finally.
I brought my wrist up to speak.
"Echo-3-1, Echo-3-3. Lost in lower decks, found a civilian in-"
Suddenly, I couldn't breathe. I tried to cough, but something was closing around my throat - stopping the words before I could speak them. I choked, hands shooting for my throat as the pressure crushed around.
"Echo-3-3, say again?" My sergeant asked, but I couldn't breathe out an answer. I looked forward to the smiling woman once more. Only now, her smile was anything but kind. Even as the pounding filled my ears, I could hear the choked cries of the p'w'eck as whatever spell befell me hit it as well. The woman had one hand raised, closed into a fist.
This lasted for all of a few seconds.
Cr-r-rack!
Then, I knew nothing more.