Commodore Rivejer Tullius
Of all the requests I made, new officers being one of the few that actually made it through was immediate cause for suspicion. After all, if my needs were not met regarding Armytroopers then why would there be officers available?
The reason became apparent as I read into their files. Cain, Cinna, Tenkor; each of them had a black mark of some kind on their records. The rest of the new ship officers were hastily promoted officers of my previous command, drawn from the destroyed ships or bridge officers. I could not levy too much disappointment, not until I saw them in battle, but that lingering concern would not leave.
Given how busy these last few weeks had been, I hadn't had the chance to meet most of the new officers face-to-face. As such, I had allotted this day and time to meet with them. Just prior to that meeting, I was sitting in my office - drumming my fingers on its surface and periodically checking the chronometer. That was interspersed with constant review of my notes and script.
Despite his treason, I found myself trying to emulate the leadership style of Blitzer Harrsk. I lacked the sheer magnetism and charisma he oozed, but I could at least copy his style when it came to large meetings. Harrsk had a good sense of presentation, how to rule his audience and keep their attention. Emulating a traitor was a bad decision in a vacuum, but I wagered that I was the only person in the fleet that had any idea what Harrsk was like, beyond maybe Captain Milgern.
My chronometer chimed once, signalling that it was time for the meeting. I rose to my feet, wiping off invisible dust from my tunic as I moved to the door. Outside, my usual shadows awaited me - having no outward reaction to my presence.
Unlike the Stormtroopers, I did not speak to the Deathtroopers. My nervous attempts at camaraderie were rebuffed with silent stares, so I had taken to ignoring them beyond when I needed them - which seemed to be never.
We moved through the Glorious' hallways, arriving in short order at the nearby conference room. I walked up to the door and stood in its frame, taking in a long breath through my nose. I had not ordinarily been nervous when meeting with my staff, but this was the first time I was having one of these meetings as a Commodore - a Rear Admiral of the Line if one went purely by that system. It was always a good idea to put one's best foot forward and I wanted to impress upon my new officers that, despite whatever else they had heard about me, I was in command here.
I took in a deep breath and opened the door.
Lieutenant Mas Tenkor
The moment the door to the conference room opened, all conversation ceased. I turned in my seat to see the newcomer and was briefly confused who else would be joining us. There was a single seat empty, but I had assumed that was reserved for my new superior - the Commodore Rivejer Tullius. The man who stood in the doorway, severe though simple face scanning those of us at the table, was not immediately recognisable.
The split second it took my mind to comprehend that there was someone there was followed by the realisation that I did know who this man was - and it was indeed the Commodore. My initial reaction was that he appeared plain, no one part of him standing out as an officer. He was of a moderate height, made to seem almost comically short when stood besides his towering bodyguards. His hair - that which could be seen from under his service cap in any case - was a shade of brown with hints of auburn red. Perhaps the only defining feature of his face were the meticulously maintained sideburns, though even those were kept short and understated. His face entirely forgettable, I had probably seen a dozen similar men aboard my new ship - the Pesticide. His uniform had no personality, merely his rank plaque and code cylinders. There was really only one real way to describe him: plain.
Which made what I knew about the Commodore all the more difficult to recognise. It was a challenge to link this man to the same officer written about by COMPNOR.
I had researched the man I would be serving under so soon after my graduation from the academy. Instantly, I had feared that Tullius was a propaganda figure - an officer created by COMPNOR to bolster spirits. I had feared my career would be spent shunted off in some forgotten corner of the galaxy, part of a fleet that existed only in the records. That Tullius was a real person, or at least carried the name, did not assuage my fears.
Looking up at him now, I still felt that conflict. I had envisioned a powerful figure even after seeing his pictures, like the Grand Admirals. Tullius was not that. Still, despite my observations I saw the older officers straighten instantly. My gaze was drawn to Captain Forster - under whom I now served - and found that the professional man almost seemed nervous with the Commodore's arrival.
I focused my attention back on Tullius once more, gauging him. His dull gaze swept over the gathered officers for a long, quiet second. Then another. An unmistakable tension filled the room as Tullius remained deathly silent. Then, after the sixth second, his expression changed. His lips pulled down only slightly into a frown.
He sniffed - a sound that felt almost derisive, disappointed. I was not given long to ponder what that meant as the man stepped into the room fully, the solid thud of his boots matched by those of his guards as two entered and took position next to the closing door.
"I will assume all of you have read your reports and familiarised yourselves with the fleet. However, in the interest of posterity I will introduce myself. I am Rivejer Tullius, Commodore of Arrowhead Command, 3rd Fleet of the Ciutric Hegemony." His tone was droll and bored, like a dull bureaucrat rather than the man that had scourged an alien world of life.
He was walking around the table slowly, starting on the side I was sitting on. I dared not turn, despite his unassuming demeanour. The other officers again seemed to be listening with rapt attention and so I instinctively emulated them. It was a habit I picked up in my academic career - do as the older generations did.
In a moment, I was thankful for that.
Thud. Thud. Thud. Tullius had worked his way behind me, still speaking.
"I do not expect acts of daring heroism. I do not expect you to expend your lives unnecessarily, just as you can expect me not to do the same. What I expect is competence and loyalty. Do as you are told, by me or your direct superiors, and you shall survive."
He had made his way to the head of the table, but he did not stop. His left hand rose to run a finger along the top of the chair, an ornate show of wealth that the Glorious seemed to emanate passively. It was polished to a gleam, yet Tullius pulled his finger away and looked down at it, that frown remaining as he rubbed the finger with his thumb. As if there was still dust, as if the chair were not yet perfect.
He continued along to the other side of the table, hands dropping back down behind his back as he continued. His gaze was set forward, somewhere on the wall back toward the door.
"This fleet has been through a great deal, much like the Empire itself. Only through loyalty, unity and trust can we survive the coming storm."
Those words seemed to have an especially strong effect on Captain Harand, who was seated closest to the head of the table. He frowned and nearly winced at their usage.
"In recent weeks, I have run most of you through the gambit of wargames and simulations. Some of you may find these drills pointless, or redundant. Preparing for conflicts that will never come to the Core. Allow me to dash these beliefs. Wherever we go, whenever we get there, the risk for conflict will always remain a possibility. You must be vigilant, prepared, for at any moment-"
Thud-thud.
Tullius stopped dead. The reason was immediately apparent from which officer he had just passed and it only seemed to register to the Commodore at that moment.
For the officer not a human. She was close, though.
Julia Cinna, a Lieutenant like me but commanding one of the Heavy Cruisers where I oversaw a Lancer. She was a Zeltron, with red skin, purple hair and everything. She was pretty - though given that she was a Zeltron that was like saying water was wet - but oozed a perpetual 'do not speak to me' aura. When we had all arrived piecemeal, she had deigned to introduce herself by name and rank but said nothing more. Instead, she had favoured the table with a perpetual frown as conservation continued. I didn't know how a near-human ended up here of all places, under an officer who seemed to have the favour of COMPNOR, but I now realised that this would become a sticking point.
Cinna, for her part, had tried to maintain the mask of sour indifference she regarded us with. However, with the Commodore looming just behind her, a bead of sweat perspirated on her bow. Her frown seemed weaker, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. She was at odds with the pale and dark skinned humans that surrounded her, standing out like a neon sign against the night sky.
Tullius stood there for all of a few heartbeats, turning his head just enough to peer down at Cinna with an expression close to confusion. I had to fight down a nervous giggle, the tension was so thick I felt no desire to let it out.
Then, Tullius continued - all as if nothing had happened.
"... At any moment, we may be engaged. By Rebels, by pirates, even by former Imperials."
He continued around the table before ending at his chair again, pulling it out and taking a seat. His fingers steepled on its surface, that same gaze passing over us all again. He did not linger on Cinna this time.
"I assume you have all had the chance to introduce yourselves, but I wish to do so again to erase any confusion. Captain Harand, you can start."
Lieutenant Ashsca Screold
Having spent my career on modern Star Destroyers, I found the Glorious to be a truly alien ship. The hallways were wider, the quarters were nicer, but the strangest part was the secondary bridge. On the Conqueror, the secondary - or back-up - bridge was sequestered inside the ship. It was protected under layers of armour and spaced decks to protect it. If ever the main bridge was destroyed or otherwise disabled, the ship could still be operated from there.
The Glorious did not adopt this practice. The secondary bridge was located at the front of the ship, beneath the bow. It had its own viewscreens into the void and even had portions of the floor made from that same clear material so the commanding officer could look down into the void. I could hardly guess what purpose it served, beyond style or some bizarre showmanship.
I had explored the bridge extensively, learning where everything was located within. It was similarly laid out to a standard Star Destroyer - generally speaking - and almost an exact copy of the primary bridge; down to an exact copy of the command holotable. I ran a hand along its lip, staring at the glowing hologram of the Glorious.
Of course, while all this scouring and learning was part of my duties it also served as a distraction. I had spent nearly my entire career - from the moment Tullius first found me aboard the Conqueror - on the bridge. At his side. Everything I knew about commanding a vessel had been learned from him and the veterans that made up his favoured staff. As inadequate as I felt at times around them - and how often I treated them as rivals - I missed their presence.
I had been sent to the secondary bridge by Tullius, my old position taken up by the now-Captain Mils Milgern. He had called it a training opportunity, a chance to hone my abilities as a leader without his direct oversight. Yet it felt like a punishment, pushing me beyond arm's length for my part in plotting against him. It was never said in as many words and Tullius never showcased even a minor amount of malice, but his actions spoke louder. Matread was gone and, though I felt embittered with him at the moment, it was his calming presence I missed the most, as was Harand. Ironically, of the four of us, Milgern - the officer with whom Tullius interacted the least - was brought onto the bridge.
I could accept his placement, at least in part. Milgern was the most experienced officer in terms of commanding Star Destroyers. Certainly more than me, in any case. Indeed, Milgern had been commanding the Intimidation for longer than Tullius had been in Arrowhead Command. Choosing him to command the Glorious only made sense, now that the Intimidation was gone. Yet… Yet, that knowledge did little to assuage the hurt I felt.
My thoughts regarding Rivejer Tullius had become strained as of late. In many ways I had been naive, even up to Endor. Tullius had his oddities, a nervous energy that transformed into frothing aggression at a moment's notice. Yet despite that, he had a certain nobility. A calm, implacable demeanor that made him feel larger than life. As if no matter the situation, he would always know exactly what to do. At Bakura, I had accepted the casualness with which he threatened orbital bombardment. The Bakurans had spat on our sacrifices, had turned from the Empire and betrayed their loyalties.
After N'zoth? That entire event had left a sour taste in my mouth. Slavery, especially at a species-wide level, was itself alien to me. Being born on Aargau, I knew slavery - we called it serfdom there, but the difference was minimal. But those had been debtors and deserters; the lowest of the low, the types that needed to work off their debts to society. It was a binary black and white, but what crimes had the Yevethans committed? Maybe I was operating without complete information, maybe there was something I was missing. Then N'zoth burned, all life doubtless expunged from its surface under the burning wreckage of the Intimidator. If the crash hadn't done it, then certainly the ruined reactor being exposed to the open atmosphere did not help. Whatever crimes the Yevethans were guilty of, it was horrifying. But Tullius? That same calm, implacable demeanor. That same dutiful indifference. Like Maab. Like the other old guard veterans, who viewed death and war as common.
Maybe I was naive. Maybe I am naive. I still trust my Commodore, I still look at him as the exemplar of what an officer should be, but after that I had some niggling concerns. This was evidenced by the regret I felt for turning against him and trying to protect myself from the consequences of his arrest. This was made worse by the battles after, as our losses stacked. Tullius did what he needed to win, I could accept that - but charge the Conqueror down the gullet of another Star Destroyer? Not a moment of concern was given for the crew, not even a call to abandon ship as he charged into what could only have been a suicidal last attack. At that moment, I could not say what possessed Tullius. Madness? Spite?
Or was that merely who he was and I had been so enamoured with the nobility of it all?
Matread seemed to share my thoughts. Then again, perhaps I just hadn't noticed them before. Sidelong glances; frowning and muttering and disappointment. Wyatdrew Matread was old, in both body and mind. He was smart enough not to fawn after the Old Republic outwardly, but there were always signs. He was critical of the Admiralty, however, which probably explained his low rank despite his age. Tullius' lack of care for that fact had ingratiated him with Matread, only to dash that trust on the surface of N'zoth.
My thoughts were cast back to Galantos and beyond, my desire to thrust the casualty reports into Tullius' face. That desire to get a reaction, any reaction, that approximated regret. Was it naive to hope for even that? Tullius was the first officer I had served under, the first real officer. Was this just what they were like?
My shift came to an end, replaced by Harand's chosen man. He was friendly, though it was clear from our first conversations he did not like me replacing his former superior. Harand had instilled in his staff a sense of loyalty and we were stuck trying to figure out where we stood with each other. Without Tullius looking over my shoulder, I realised I would need to approach how I handled my staff with new tactics.
I filed those thoughts away for now as I made way for my office. There was a call I needed to make, one I had been putting off since our return to the Core. I had sent a short message announcing I was alive, which was answered with relieved responses. Yet, it was not the same as a face-to-face conversation. Woe, pity the dutiful daughter.
While my office was comparatively quaint compared to the one now used by Tullius, it was still comparable to the one he had on the Conqueror. It certainly had more personal space than I was used to, with quarters to match nearby. A pair of bored-looking Navytroopers stood guard at the door, though they quickly straightened up at my approach. I even had guards now, that fact sending a prideful shudder up my spine. I nodded solemnly to the pair before entering my office.
I swiftly found my way to the desk, eyes roving the bare walls. I had never given much thought to how I would decorate my office, never having considered that I would have one in the first place. Tullius had merely adopted the artwork left behind, or that which was stolen by Maab. I had the sudden urge to put my own personal flair in how the room looked, but I lacked the personal effects to fill it. Beyond, well…
Set on a nearby table was a sword's sheath, the blade itself still sequestered within. It was a custom dueling sabre, one I had kept ever since I left Aargau. It had been months since I had the chance to compete or do anything other than practice, but I kept it perfectly maintained all the same.
My mother would be horrified that I had neglected it so.
I took a seat behind my desk, pushing the sword from my mind and activating my communication terminal. With the Glorious' main array back online, I was given a direct line to Aargau faster than I wanted, faster than I was ready for. The pleasant, modulated voice announced the connection and soon the faces of my parents appeared.
They had been waiting, as per my message earlier in the day. The relief on their faces made my heart both sink and flutter all at once.
Nair Screold was a rapidly balding man with wide jowls and a thick beard. Even seated though, his startling height was apparent next to his wife. A contractor financial analyst, he had spent his career working for various corporations on Aargau. Such a career had led to comfortable living.
Shiala Screold was therefore an exercise in opposites, thin and sharp. She radiated a noble poise my father lacked, though that was not a slight against him. She was still dressed in the uniform finery of her office, a ranking officer in the Aargau PDF. As her mother was before her and her father before her and on and on. Yet despite the harshness of her features, there was now a soft fondness that made this call worth it all the more.
"Ashsca." She said, her voice soft and lacking its usual edge. My father was not so restrained.
"Ashsca!" The mountainous man all but bellowed. "You look thin. Have you been eating alright?"
"I… Yes, father." His head bobbed seriously, but as he opened his mouth to ask what was sure to be the first volley of a question barrage, my mother spoke first.
"We were worried, Ashsca. You vanished for months; I assumed the worst. It is good to see you alive - and in good health, no less."
My father, unbothered by the interruption, hastened the bobbing of his head. Sensing the direction this conversation was going, I quickly tried to think of some good news to give to forestall it.
"We have been busy. I was moved from the bridge to the secondary bridge, I am to take it over and begin training to command my own ship." I said, giving the official reason for being here. I did not want to let my suspected reason be known; I did not want to see the disappointment in their eyes.
This news had an immediate effect on them, pride radiating from the pair like light from a star.
"A whole bridge? That's my girl!" My father announced, roaring his approval once more. My mother smiled, though the pride was evident in her eyes.
"That is good, Ashsca. You are still serving under that Captain, Tul…" She paused, trying to recall his name.
"Tullius. Yes, the Commodore - that is Tullius, he got a promotion - moved a more experienced Captain to my old position so I could get used to commanding alone."
"Our daughter, nearly commanding a Star Destroyer!" My father laughed. "Your brother will be green with envy."
"Ah, well, more a Battlecruiser. The Conqueror was heavily damaged, she had to be scuttled. The new ship, the Glorious, is… this one?" I said, gesturing vaguely at my surroundings before realising they couldn't see it. I realised my error a half-second late.
My father was concerned, the news of a ship being heavily damaged could only mean one thing - and I had not told them we were being sent to Endor. My mother, on the other hand, was much more connected to military affairs. I had seen the glint in her eyes the moment I mentioned the name 'Tullius'. It was not an uncommon surname in the Core, but in reminding her of the old ship's name - the Conqueror - she could put the pieces together. After all, CompForce had completed their newsletter weeks ago. Tullius would be a name people knew if they read those articles and would associate Conqueror with the name.
"Ashsca… Surely not that Tullius?" She asked slowly, silencing my father's jubilations. Immediately sensing the change in mood, my father looked from her to me.
"Which Tullius?" He asked immediately.
I knew I could lie, or pretend I did not understand. I opened my mouth to do so, to keep delaying as I had been so far.
"Yes." Was what I said instead.
"Is it all true?" She asked, a harsh seriousness taking her voice over. I knew what she was asking about, what the newsletter entailed. I could not bring myself to read it, the first passage had been about the glory at N'zoth and I had felt sick reading it. But I knew what the contents were: N'zoth, Bakura, Wrath, Endor. A desperate campaign.
"Yes."
"Ashsca." And here it came. The questions, the interrogation. My mother had never been happy with me leaving Aargau, nor with my joining the Imperial Navy. She had wanted me to join the PDF, as my brother had and she had and everyone on her side of the family had.
"Are you okay?"
Yes. I wanted to say.
"No."
In the end, I told them everything. Or, everything I could. I still had the presence of mind to keep any sensitive intelligence from the conversation. Like, I did not know what the Empire's position was on Admiral Paret and his ill-fated rebellion. He was not brought up, so I said nothing about him. However, in describing the events I came to appreciate a bit more how close everything was to complete destruction. Despite our family's career in the military, it had been a long time since we had seen real combat. At best, my brother fought pirates - skittish sorts that did not want to die for the cause. The same could not be said of the Ssi-Ruuk or Yevethans.
She had offered to help me back to Aargau, to join its fleet or PDF. In the current political climate she was sure she could spirit me away. I was tempted, sorely so. The reality of the Navy and the people I served alongside had poisoned my mind. I had refused, though it was close.
There was one last thing I felt I needed to do, before I truly decided.
My feet carried me through the Glorious, directly to Tullius' office. I had scheduled it ahead of time to remove the chance of delaying. Years of service, yet now I felt intimidated to speak to him.
His quartet of guards filled the hall, helmets barely turning to track me as I approached. I looked up at one and found my face reflected in the shiny armour. I was expected; none of the guards moved to deny me entry to the office.
The interior was as I had seen it last, Tullius stooped over his desk and feverishly writing on a datapad. He did not look up as I entered, quietly muttering to himself. I swallowed thickly before stepping forward out of the doorway, letting it slide shut with a hiss. I marched right up to his desk, stopping before reaching the chairs and looking down at him. This silence lasted a few moments longer before, pleased with whatever he had just finished, Tullius sat up straighter.
"I apologise for the distraction." He said lightly. "Was there something you needed, Lieutenant?"
All at once, everything I wanted to ask and say died on my lips. The months of combat were seemingly gone from Tullius - his eyes and grooming standards returning to that pre-Endor state as if nothing had happened. He was a combat veteran - though not to the same degree as the Clone Wars survivors on the ship - but even then it felt like he bounced back too quickly. He waited patiently for what felt like an eternity before I spoke - all but blurting out what I wanted to ask.
"Have you read the casualty reports?"
Tullius froze for half a heartbeat before leaning back in his seat. He wet his lips, a slow motion to buy himself time to respond. I had unnerved him, or at least caught him off-guard.
"I have." He said slowly, though he did not question why I asked. He didn't say anything and this pause was far longer. For a man who seemed to snap answers out in heartbeats, the minute-long silence that followed his words were deafening. He stared at me, hard and uncompromising. Finally, he sighed and pushed up from his chair using his desk. Standing now, the spell seemed to be broken and he looked away. Tullius moved around his chair to the mural behind his desk, hands folding behind his back.
"Their heroic sacrifices will not be forgotten. Were it not for the quantity of lives lost, I would have pushed for them to all be mentioned by CompForce in place of my own name." It was propagandistic dribble I had heard said before in news broadcasts, yet never had I thought I would hear it from Tullius. Still, he continued and said something that was far more surprising. "... But they would not have needed to be remembered had it not been for my errors in judgement."
With his back to me, I could not see Tullius' expression. But I watched his right hand - the free one as the left held his right arm's wrist - tighten into a fist, nails biting into the skin of his palm. He turned again, unable to ponder space as he so often did and evidently not finding the same calming quality in the mural.
His lips were pulled down in a frown, his dull eyes squeezed into a squint as he studied me. Or rather, looked past me.
"Death in war is an inevitability, yet that does not make the preventable loss of my men any easier to accept. It is a failing of my command - and my lack of self-control - that put them in those situations. I could blame the many blocks and battles thrown into our path, but I will not shirk my responsibility in this. I could have chosen my battles better; I could have done many things better. The crews of the Conqueror, Torment, Intrepid and many more had to be the cost of teaching me those lessons. I erred in my judgement before and I fear I will err again." He paused, finding his seat again and sitting heavily. "When faced with defeat, I chose rage and spite over saving as many of my men from a ship I thought doomed. Such brazen selfishness has no place in command. I cannot allow myself to expend their lives with such casualness again; I will not. My men, my responsibility."
That short rant seemed to exhaust Tullius as he sank deeper still into his chair. Those two months of running seemed to hit him all at once. There was nothing noble or righteous in how he slouched in his chair, the paleness of his face or his dim eyes. This was perhaps the most human I had seen the Commodore, beyond the wrath that seemed to possess him in battle.
"I apologise, Lieutenant. I don't know what came over me. Was there something you needed to ask about the casualty reports?" He asked after a moment, straightening slightly. The spell was broken and it seemed Tullius did not want to dwell more than he already had.
Some deep part of me wanted to say something, to dig that bit deeper into the Commodore's psyche. I wanted to agree with him, or to exonerate him, or maybe even condemn him. However, that was not the relationship he and I had. It was one of superior and subordinate; a degree of separation existed between us that was not supposed to be breached. There was nothing I could say to his words at this moment, at least not within the bounds of my position. For a moment, the mask cracked and I had a better understanding of who Tullius was beneath the dutiful officer.
"Nothing now, sir."
"Ah… Right, there was a matter I needed to talk to you about." Tullius leaned down and opened a drawer on his desk, fiddling around for a bit before pulling a case out. It was small, fitting neatly in the palm of his hand. "In the spirit of building a new fleet, I had been meaning to give you this. It slipped my mind, as so much seems to as of late."
He handed the case to me, one I accepted with trepidation. Inside was a code cylinder, brand new and gleaming in the dim light of the office. The other was a rank plaque, two rows of three red and blue squares - a Captain plaque.
"You are being promoted to Lieutenant-Commander in light of your efforts since Endor and beyond. Ordinarily, you would remain with the previous plaque, but I-" Tullius paused, thought for a second, then said. "-I felt you deserved one for your current position. Congratulations, Commander. I foresee great things in your future."
"I… Thank you, sir." I breathed, staring down at the case with wide eyes.
"I should be thanking you, Commander." Tullius grunted, his console beeping softly to signal something. "You have been a far more able subordinate than I deserve. Forgive me for cutting this short, but I have another meeting I need to attend."
"Sir." I took the dismissal in stride, tucking the case under one arm and saluting him. He returned it before looking back down at his console, muttering something as he typed on it. I left the office, my steps a little bit lighter.
Commodore Rivejer Tullius
The shuttle bay had to be hastily cleared to make room for the incoming traffic. While the flow of hardware and personnel from the late Conqueror had slowed somewhat in recent days, it was still constant. For today however, the space was needed to make room for Major Cardon and his CompForce compatriots.
I would have preferred the traffic, to be honest. From the moment the CompForce officer announced that a battalion was being sent my way, I had been dreading this day. The meeting with Screold had not made my mood any better.
I do hope she doesn't think even lower of me. I thought bitterly, hands behind my back as I saw the first shuttle drift in. What kind of commanding officer ranted at his subordinates about his feelings? Yet, the moment I started speaking I couldn't stop.
I felt drained.
And it's about to get worse.
The shuttle set down, twisting as it did so to point back out into the void. The boarding ramp lowered and down stepped Rik Cardon, adorned still in the armour of his station with an easy smile on his thin lips. He looked exactly as he had weeks earlier, I did not know how CompForce operatives differentiated between their ranks.
"Major Cardon." I greeted the man, stepping forward to close the distance between us and offering him my hand. "A pleasure as always. I hear congratulations are in order?"
"No more than is in order for you, Commodore Tullius." Cardon said, taking my hand in his steely grip and shaking. He spoke like we were sharing a private joke. "For your promotion and for your freedom."
Ah yes, naturally he would bring that up. While it was Grand Admiral Teshik that freed me from the clutches of the ISB, it was the formerly-Agent Cardon that brought attention to my arrest in the first place. Loathe though I was to admit it, I owed him my life.
"On that, you have my thanks. Without your efforts, I may not have survived the ISB." I said, fighting to keep the icyness from my voice. If Cardon sensed my displeasure, he did not show it.
"It was a gross miscarriage of Imperial justice, but what else can we expect from the ISB?"
His shuttle took off, replaced by a larger transport craft. Cardon turned us away from the off-loading of his men and we left the hangar bay.
"I have made room for your men to be housed on the Glorious." I said as we walked, my guards falling into step behind us.
"Naturally." Cardon agreed, bobbing his head. "I am sure you have already been informed, but the 82nd falls solely under your command. It would be best for us to remain close at hand."
"Would it be too much to hope you would listen to Colonel Maab, if the need arose?" I asked, though to my surprise Cardon merely shrugged.
"If the need arose." He said, though this time he did catch my incredulous look. "I am not unreasonable, Commodore. I know your skill set lies in the void, not on the ground. However, we are not to be beholden to the Army's regulations. We will go where we are needed, but we will conduct ourselves in a manner befitting our office."
Better than I was expecting, but I suspected the real challenge would be keeping them leashed until I needed them. Hopefully, that would be never. For the time being, I would keep them on the Glorious. Maab was sour about the CompForce operatives when I brought them up, so having them interact would be a recipe for disaster. Unleashing hundreds of radical soldiers onto my ship would inevitably cause issues, but at least here I could keep my eye on them.
Our conversation moved on to what the battalion might need to operate, alongside space to store and repair the vehicles they had brought with them. I was decidedly less pleased with the discussion of Cardon recruiting more members from my crew.
The conversations with Screold and Cardon had left me emotionally drained. However, they had also made me introspective.
I found my way to Wilek Nereus, the old Governor still hard at work. Matread was still warring over his budget, despite the influx of new TIE Fighters and I-7s that had been granted. To be fair to the Commander, the fleet was running at a fraction of its capacity. The apparent considerable backlog on Interceptors had precluded the fleet from having them and there was no way we could acquire anything more advanced. Another part of his most recent complaints were based around the Bomber complement for the fleet, of which we were also lacking. That being said, we were still operating at less than a quarter of the capacity of the fleet, but as Nereus continuously put it: "It's not in the budget".
He glanced up at me as I entered, thick eyebrows knitted together in a look of deep exasperation. It only seemed to deepen at my appearance, though his voice betrayed none of his clear annoyance.
"Commodore." He greeted me, but did not rise to salute. I did not mind much - he was only technically an officer in my fleet and a former Governor besides. I would not make an enemy of him, demanding that he follow Naval protocol.
"Governor." I greeted him the same, taking a seat across from his desk. He set down the stylus he was writing with.
"To what do I owe the pleasure? We were not scheduled to meet today." It was clear he wanted me gone, so I wasted no time in bandying words.
"There are a pair of IR-3F Light Frigates in the fleet, those Bakuran ones. I wanted to have them renamed." Nereus seemed bemused for a moment at my words, merely staring at me. When I did not speak, he let out a soft sigh and leaned forward.
"That is all well and good Commodore, but that is not exactly my concern. I believe you handle that through Navy High Command or else the board for ship registry."
"Yes, I know." I quickly said, then hesitated before adding. "... I wanted to rename one to the Pter Thanas."
That gave him pause. A long breath escaped his nose as the former Governor leaned back, his expression shifting to pensive.
I had not known Commander Pter Thanas before his sacrifice at Bakura, but he had proven himself competent in our few meetings and certainly brave. Nereus, on the other hand, had served alongside the man for years prior to my arrival. He had seemed particularly torn up over Thanas' loss during our discussions at N'zoth.
Seconds went by before he spoke, his tone sounding mildly off.
"I… see. Thank you, Commodore." Nereus said carefully. "What of the other one? I suspect you will want its name changed as well?"
"I'll think of something." I shrugged. Nereus hesitated, a look of contemplation on his face before he continued.
"What about the Arild-Tron?"
"... Aye, that would work."
There was no emotional connection between us, that was not the kind of men we were. But it was a moment of recognition for some of the heroes lost along the way.
Lieutenant Julia Cinna
I knew this was coming from the moment I learned I was finally getting my own command. From the first days of joining the local academies on Imperial Center, I knew this would be a challenge. The Empire's stance on non-humans - and even near-humans - was infamous. There was a time when I naively hoped that presenting myself as a hard working and studious officer, I might have avoided some of the stigma that came with being a Zeltron. It was an inseparable part of me, no matter how I might have detested the 'free-living' culture my Mother's people followed. The other officers - new and old - might have looked askance at me in the first in-person meeting. The Commodore, creature of CompForce that he was, might have looked at me like a particularly interesting zoo exhibit, but I intended to make them respect me.
I returned back to the Endymion, a Vindicator-Class Heavy Cruiser.
My Vindicator-Class Heavy Cruiser. The thought sent a spark of excitement through my body. It was hardly the most ostentatious or proud of ships, but Arrowhead Command in general appeared run down. The Commodore's months abroad - if the stories were indeed true - had been a costly endeavour. Unfortunately, returning to the Endymion was not entirely a positive affair. My crew were a motley assortment recruited mostly from Imperial Center - with some taking the Naval path to escape misdemeanors. This did have the benefit of my crew viewing me in a more neutral light compared to the officers. These were slummers, they lived around non- and near-humans and so were used to them. My first officer was a blonde man named Ungar Max. His voice was soft-spoken, with that usual mutt accent that came from Coruscanti natives.
"Commander Pax is requesting your presence on the Vivisector, sir." He said in lieu of a greeting when I entered the bridge. I stopped dead, staring at the man as my mind ran a mile a minute.
Of course. I expected this, but not so soon. It was anyone's guess what in particular Lieutenant-Commander Pax wanted. Menace me? Threaten me? Proposition me? I had become numb to the circus of Imperial officer politics, to the point of it almost being black comedy. Still, I could not refuse the man's order. I nodded to Max before turning on my heel, walking all the way back to the hangar bay.
My shuttle - much like most of the fleet, it was a pre-owned Lambda-Class Shuttle - awaited my arrival. It had finished its shutdown procedures, before being forced to turn around and come back to life. I left my ship minutes later, flying toward the Vivisector.
The Vivisector may well have been a carbon copy of the Endymion. The weapons emplacements. The flat, wedge-shape form that was so popular in the Imperial Navy. Even the hangar was arranged the same way, with the same number of empty fighter racks located in the same places. A black uniformed officer of the Navytroopers greeted me - his tone betraying that such an action was beneath him - and led the way into the Vivisector. Instead of going to the bridge, I was taken to a conference room. Unlike larger ships such as the Procurator, the Vindicator did not allow space for individual offices. Meetings took place in the scant few conference or ready rooms.
I found Pax in that room. The Fondorian - or so I suspected, given his lack of a first name - was similar to the Commodore in many ways. However, in the case of Tullius I suspected that much of his personality and appearance was fake. His reputation alone - if it was real - would make him mildly intimidating, but I had inherited some of the good characteristics of the Zeltron people alongside the bad. My passive telepathy allowed me to read emotions and there was something wrong with Tullius. It was difficult to put into words, especially since I had not given such abilities the attention I should have when I was younger. It was as if his entire emotional state were sitting on a knife's edge. Given what CompForce claimed about him, that emotional state was frothing rage.
Pax, on the other hand, was decidedly one-note. The bored placidity he perpetually displayed was not affected, he simply was that boring. The man's mind was like being pressed down on by a quilt, threatening to fill me with lethargy if I did not remain focused. His mind was like a perpetual dull hum.
"Lieutenant Julia Cinna reporting, sir." I said, snapping off a salute. Pax nodded me toward the chair on the far side of the table from him, hands resting beneath on his lap. I did the same, matching his posture.
"Lieutenant, I have taken the time to read your file. You have spent much of your short career as a secretary to several Admirals. Is this correct?"
"Assistant, sir." I corrected, fighting to keep the harshness from my voice. The title 'secretary' had a far different connotation when speaking of a Zeltron, I knew. Pax merely stared at me, his heavy, half-lidded eyes looked decidedly unimpressed. "... Yes, sir."
"Perhaps you could explain that to me?"
"Sir?"
"How did you end up being assigned to this fleet?" He reiterated and at once I knew where this conversation was going.
"I was third place in my Lieutenant's Exam, sir." I defended quickly, too quickly. Pax's eyebrow rose, but he continued in that same dull tone of voice.
"Yet you weren't given a ship. Why was that?"
"I-" Knew the reason why, even if I didn't want to say it. Even if I didn't want to admit it. "Would not know, sir."
"Is it perhaps because of your species? Perhaps your birth?" Pax asked, making my hands clench under the table. "Do you feel that the Empire has cheated you, Lieutenant? That it has wronged you by waiting this long?"
It took me a moment to realise that he was prodding me intentionally. He was trying to get me to react, though his questions were inexpert and clumsy. The man's emotional state remained muddled, leading me to believe that these questions were not coming from him.
"The Empire was going to put me on a ship when it felt I was ready, sir." I answered diplomatically, earning a sagely nod from the man. He hummed, merely staring at me now. The silence stretched on for a time, though how long I did not know. Finally, I spoke again.
"Was there something more that you needed, sir?"
"Yes. Your people's pheromones, I have been led to believe that they are capable of influencing those around you. Perhaps you could elaborate on that?"
I fought the desire to grit my teeth as we moved to the topic I dread the most. Despite the bevy of knowledge on the Zeltron species, scarcely any Imperial officers seemed to bother researching. As such, the questions were always the same. I kept my expression as neutral as I could.
"That is not how it works, sir." I said.
"Oh?" Pax asked, immediately sounding bored.
"My- The Zeltron pheromones affect the mind only as far as making someone more agreeable. Less combative with the Zeltron in question." I skipped over the more carnal aspect, not wanting to feed into the stereotype unnecessarily with the clearly disinterested Pax.
"Oh." He said dully, then leaned forward. There was a shift in his emotional state, like the quagmire had lifted - or at least focused. "What is the difference?"
Taken aback, I did not have an immediate response. I had become comfortable in the conversation, expecting where it would go. I was not given the chance to respond as the Commander continued.
"There is none, at least in the minds of the men who will surround you. I am certain I am treading over familiar ground Lieutenant, but you are not among friends here. Every officer and crewmember has already established their idea of what you are and what you are like before you ever opened your mouth. Regardless of who you are or what you have done, you shall always be 'Julia the Zeltron' among most of the crew. Ordinarily, I would not have expected such distractions among my officers." Pax paused before saying: "But the Commodore is allowing it. If Tullius finds you acceptable enough to keep around, then I do."
The haze that was his emotions vanished completely now, replaced by the iron-wrought certainty of loyalty. Pax was a creature of Tullius, absolutely loyal. It was the sort of loyalty I found surprising, though perhaps my perspective was coloured by the officers I usually dealt with.
"That is why I am going to offer you a choice, Lieutenant." Pax was not finished. "The option to leave before things get tough. As you have probably already learned, CompForce has taken a particular interest in the Commodore. They have placed a detachment of their military arm on this fleet, seemingly as a favour to him. They will inevitably have an influence on the fleet, one that will be far from beneficial to you and your comfort."
He lifted a datapad, hidden beneath the table.
"This is a transfer order, it needs only my signature. You can leave this fleet today. You would return to whatever career purgatory you were in before this, but you would be safer. Remaining with the fleet will not just be tough, it will be a challenge. One that will get worse every day CompForce is here. You will not only be viewed as… well, a Zeltron, but as a potential threat."
I stared at Pax for a long moment, the fact that I had underestimated him temporarily ignored in favour of what he had said.
"Sir, permission to speak freely?"
"In this instance? Granted."
"I have lived my entire life like this, sir." That was all I felt needed to be said. The sidelong glances, the disdain, the preconceptions of what I would be like because how I was born? It was an old hat. CompForce was the worst of a bad group and I knew Pax was right - it would be hard. Still, that a man who was apparently in the pocket of CompForce had approved my transfer gave me some small spark of hope for the future.
Pax stared at me, then turned off the datapad.
"Welcome to Arrowhead Command, Lieutenant. We shall see if that assuredness remains."