Gazrael sat on the couch, a datapad in hand as he looked out the viewing port of the new quarters that Admiral Daala had seen fit to assign them. Beyond the portal, only the yellow cloud of the nebula they had come through was visible—a swirling, unnatural barrier between them and freedom.

  "You think they ever get tired of seeing that thing?" he asked, his voice soft in the sterile quiet of their quarters.

  Leonia sat beside him on the couch, holding her makeup case and using its cracked mirror. Her reflection splintered into a hundred fragile shards as she meticulously applied dark black eyeliner with small crimson glitter flecks. She applied it, rubbed it away, reapplied it, rubbed it away again—a perfectionist ritual that demanded her complete focus. At Gazrael's interruption, her violet eyes flashed to him, her voice tinged with annoyance.

  "They've been out here 10 years, darling. What do you think?"

  "Let me." He set down the tablet and reached out, taking her chin and tilting it back with his left hand while steadying her wrist with his right. "Now try it."

  She started drawing the eyeliner again as he continued. "I think I need more access to their network than what this thing is giving me as is. Try feeding it a password."

  She huffed and put her makeup down. "I have a banquet to get ready for, Gazrael, and they don't exactly teach cadets every code to every secret imperial facility." She picked up the datapad and entered her student ID number. The datapad flashed red as it rejected the input. "See? Nothing."

  "It's got a blood reader." He gestured to the bottom before returning his grip to her chin.

  "Oh right, because my blood is gonna be the key to top imperial secrets." Her voice dripped with sarcasm as she teasingly pressed her finger under the blood reader. When the needle jutted forward pricking her finger, she flinched. "Ahh shi—"

  Her eyes widened as the screen flashed green. My blood IS the key. She looked at the drop of crimson on her finger with something approaching reverence. Of course my beautiful treasure is the key.

  Gazrael took her finger and tenderly kissed the small wound before his eyes returned to the datapad. Leonia felt her heart skip a beat as his lips traced her finger.

  "Damn... full access," he said, surprise evident in his voice. "The tablet is saying you're the facility administrator." His eyes narrowed in confusion. "They have your DNA profile on file?"

  "Of course... that's how I unlocked the tablet." She didn't seem to think much of the revelation. "And they said that they keep a Tarkin Family database, obviously I'm on the database."

  Her face scrunched as she remembered Valkor's exact words: 'It's a procedure around here.' The question suddenly seemed more important. Why was that a procedure? Why hadn't I followed up on that? She shook her head. I'll inquire about it at the banquet. I need to get my lipstick perfect first.

  "Well, since it's unlocked, you want to add a password for it? Don't want to have to stick you every time I want to get on the computer."

  She sighed. Darling, the banquet. But then she smirked slightly. "Make it 'starlight.' We'll both remember that."

  His eyes started scanning the screen as he took the tablet and added her new user password to the system. His fingers moved quickly across the display. "Troop reports, medical records, Project: Phase Shift, Project: Silence, Project: Dimachaerus... anything interesting to you?"

  She returned her attention to her makeup, moving on to her lips now that she was satisfied with her eyeliner wings. She chose a deep metallic shade of burgundy—the color of dried blood. She wasn't sure how it would match with the silver streaks of her hair and violet eyes, but fashion favors the killer.

  "No. I have to get ready, Gazrael." She huffed with annoyance again. "I know to a commoner a banquet sounds like a dinner, but it's a battlefield, a war to make good impressions and forge alliances." She paused as she picked up her makeup case again and looked at her reflection in her cracked mirror. "And I intend to win that war, to shake up Daala's hold over this facility."

  Gazrael only paid half attention as she explained, his focus on the datapad. "A star destroyer? Hmmm."

  "Of course there's a star destroyer. Remember the Gorgon? Almost turned you and I to past tense."

  "No, no—Dimachaerus Class Star Destroyer. That's what Project Dimachaerus is... this facility has manufacturing capabilities for a star destroyer with a Cortosis alloy shell." He squinted as he looked through the specs for it, his expression growing more concerned.

  Leonia's interest peaked for a moment as she looked away from her mirror. "What's Cortosis?"

  "I don't know." His fingers swiped across the screen again. "Never heard of it, but Project: Phase Shifter is an experimental torpedo... turns metal to dust?"

  Leonia snapped her attention back to her makeup. "Right, weapons projects. My family was involved in building the Death Star—makes sense they'd be involved in weapons research."

  "So still nothing catching your interest?"

  She shrugged. "Darling, I am. Busy. I need to look perfect."

  "You always look perfect." His response was as dismissive as it was reassuring. "The day you don't look perfect is the day I wake up as a Jedi."

  She turned and gave him a smile. I'm always perfect, aren't I? Then her eyes darkened. "And yet you still made time to look at that... that whore that they're trying to pass off as a doctor."

  "She was pretty. Doesn't make you less pretty." His tone was nonchalant and careless.

  Her grip on her palette tightened as her blood started to boil. How dare you. "Well, why don't you fuck off back to the MedBay and whisper to her about how she's your midnight dream and let me die alone of my heart ache?"

  "Because you're my Starlight and you're sitting here, not in the MedBay." He pulled his eyes away from his datapad. "And you said you'd work on that jealousy of yours. I'm right here, with you, exactly where I want to be. A little trust, please."

  He reached out, tucking her hair behind her ear, drawing her attention to the still bandaged wound from her erratic tantrum in the MedBay, when she tried to "draw" his blood.

  She looked at the bandage and for a moment regret flashed across her eyes before she looked away. "It would help if you weren't trying to provoke me."

  "You brought her up in the first place. I was just being honest... trust me, Starlight, the truth may hurt now, but honesty is what's going to make us work."

  She sighed. I never apologize. I never apologize. "I... acknowledge it was a mistake to bring it up."

  "You need to do more than acknowledge bringing it up was a mistake." He pointed to the bandage. "You—... We, need to make sure this doesn't happen again."

  "I was just trying to make sure it was done right." Her voice was soft, pitched higher and rough with suppressed emotion as she almost dropped the palette.

  "Yeah, the funny thing about doing a blood draw right is that typically you don't jam the needle in without looking at where it was going. Felt more like you were trying to take my arm off."

  Her knuckles turned white around her makeup palette and it started cracking in her hands as she lifted her hands up next to her head. "I didn't fucking mean to. I didn't fucking mean to. I DIDN'T FUCKING MEAN TO."

  She paused, trying to take deep breaths, her lungs shaking with every motion. She could see her vision turning red, could feel the fantasy coming on. She had seconds to try and calm herself. "I said I'll work on my jealousy. Some trust, please."

  For a moment he seemed to be taking her in, thinking and processing. Slowly and gingerly, he reached out and pulled a stray hair from her face, sliding it back to where he assumed she'd want it. "I trust you're trying."

  They were interrupted by a voice over the comms. "All Command and Research staff, banquet in 100 hours."

  Her head turned to the PA before focusing back on her makeup. "I said I need to focus, Gazrael. This is for us. Everything I've done since you said you love me was for us. Without you, there is no me." Her grip on her makeup palette remained intense and her jaw clenched. I'm the reason we're alive, the reason you're not in a cell. EVERYTHING I do is for us. "So please, just...I know I get jealous, but please just..." Her voice almost shattered as she admitted to the fault, she was supposed to be flawless, how could she have such a petty emotion as jealousy. "Please only have eyes for me at the banquet."

  He put down the datapad for a moment, thinking to himself. Not exactly as much progress on her jealousy issues as I had hoped, but she's trying at least and it's only been a few hours. He tentatively reached out and tenderly caressed her face. She's trying. I need to try too. I can be better for her.

  "Gazrael my found—"

  "Eyes only for you." His eyes locked onto hers with an intensity that made her shudder, his hand reaching and gripping her thigh possessively but tenderly. "I promise. No one but you." And I'll hold myself to it. I can be better, for you.

  The tension released from her shoulders and she felt her grip on her palette loosen. "Thank you."

  She returned to her makeup as he continued scrolling through imperial records. For a moment, a genuine sense of serenity washed over them both. She began leaning into him, and he absentmindedly shifted his posture to support her, his arm wrapping around her while he continued trying to find information within the imperial network. The door to the room hissed open abruptly.

  Leonia turned red. "HAVEN'T YOU HEARD OF FUCKING KNOCKING—"

  The droid cowered back from her voice as it retreated behind the dress that was being presented to her via a repulsor-lifted mannequin. "Your dress, ma'am."

  In a flash, Leonia's anger dissipated as she shot to her feet, running to examine it. "Black as instructed, tight corset and scarlet." Just like blood, like Gazrael and I's beautiful blood. She lowered her gaze. "Ahh yes, platform boots, knee length."

  She scowled as she tried to find a flaw in the outfit, some little mistake so that she could vent further anger and rage at the droid. But the dress was as if he had downloaded it straight from inside her head, even the materials were perfect. The corset was made of synth leather with durasteel boning like an elegant armor plating, a slit in the skirt for her to sit, fingerless gloves topped with silver rings, and even a small leather choker that she had forgotten to request. The final product seemed to blend art depictions of the Ancient Sith warriors she'd seen in historical holocrons with aristocratic refinement. It's perfect. She almost felt upset that she couldn't find any details of the dress to be upset about. "This will be acceptable. Let me finish my makeup and then you can help me put it on."

  She turned to Gazrael excitedly, holding up the dress's sleeve and beaming. "You ready to escort your Moff to war, Captain?"

  "Captain?" He looked up at her and then around, confused.

  She exhaled and rolled her eyes. Way to deflate the moment. "I mean you, Captain Idiot."

  "Ohhhh... yeah, yeah, right." He stood up, tossing the datapad aside. Full attention on her for the banquet. "My place is with you, Moff Tarkin. I'm your fiancé, remember?"

  She reached forward, taking his hand and putting it around her throat before looking him straight in the eyes. The violet of her eyes almost glowed in the low lighting as she applied force, as if trying to choke herself with his hand. Then she whispered softly, "You wanted trust, here it is. I'm completely in your hands." She smiled a little, as if trying to reassure him. "Together, we do this together."

  He didn't move his hand or pull back. "Together, always together."

  She leaned in forward, pushing her throat fully into his grip. He had no idea how she could possibly breathe with how much force she was pushing herself into him, but for a moment her eyes fluttered closed with contentment before she leaned back again. "And make sure you trust me to know how much I can take. We should be going. Droid, start getting me dressed."

  "Yeah, we should." He began following her. What the fuck was that... and why did I like it? "Are we going to do that again?"

  She stopped before smiling back at him, an almost manic joy in her expression as the droid whirred to begin dressing her. "Only if you let us."

  ********

  Daala sat analyzing the holographic display before her, the blue glow casting harsh shadows across her face. Captain Brusc continued reading off the resources available to them, his voice echoing in the sterile command center.

  "With the Basilisk, Gorgon, Hydra, and Manticore, that brings us up to four Imperial-class Star Destroyers. With Dying Light, we have a Victory-class Star Destroyer. A formidable fleet right there. Five Carrack cruisers, six Crusader corvettes, and about seventeen Gozanti craft..."

  She interrupted, her attention shifting upward to the largest hologram. "Six Star Destroyers with the Dimachaerus."

  "Well, it's assembled and we have the crew on standby for it, but it's hardly field tested." Brusc frowned, his finger tracing the outline of the massive vessel on the display. "It was an expensive asset, possibly one of the most expensive military projects the Empire ever funded. There's over a trillion credits and a planet's worth of Cortosis involved in that thing."

  "Then field test it." Daala's voice was cold and precise. "Captain Mullinore has just returned from his mission to destroy the Rebel transmission station, yes? He should have information about trade convoys from the station's logs."

  Brusc tilted his head, considering the implications. "Can't say ambushing a cargo convoy would give us a proper field test... but we'd at least confirm how well that Cortosis armor plating holds up in live combat. Should be impenetrable to blaster and ion fire..." He paused, his expression darkening. "Granted, it will be more vulnerable to torpedoes and ramming maneuvers."

  "I'm aware of the properties that made us create the Dimachaerus, Captain." She stood up from her chair, her uniform immaculate even after hours of strategic planning. "The fact is that even with the formidable fleet we have assembled, we can't substantially damage this... New Republic without deploying all assets at our disposal."

  Brusc's eyes shot back and forth as he considered options on the table. "We're also pretty... under-supplied thanks to the length of the lockdown. Recycling food matter, air, and water only gets us so far when we start running out of parts for repairs and maintenance."

  "You're insinuating that we don't just hit a New Republic cargo convoy, we also pirate its contents." Her voice was clipped with barely constrained contempt. I didn't take this command just to end up playing pirate in the Outer Rim.

  "It would be impossible to wage the protracted campaign to bleed the New Republic out without supplies." He leaned back in his chair, his face illuminated by the blue glow of the tactical display. "We don't have the facilities to make new TIE Fighters or Proton Torpedoes, and our troops are tired of eating recycled bantha shit."

  True, war leaves little room for grandstanding. She thought, watching as the Dimachaerus's Cortosis hull glinted in the hologram—a relic of Tarkin's ambition, one of the most expensive military projects the Empire ever funded, now hers to wield.

  "Very well, Captain. If you feel piracy is necessary, then I'll leave you to relay that as an order yourself. You and your Manticore will escort the Dimachaerus with whatever number of Crusaders and Gozantis you see fit."

  She looked out the viewing port to see her own Gorgon in the drydocks, hundreds of Wookiees scurrying around as they operated on it. Behind it, the blue magnetic fields were tinted an ugly shade of yellow by the gas shield that concealed the facility. How much longer would we be able to keep it running without actual replacement parts? You can't just jury-rig a Star Destroyer.

  She turned back to him. "Well, get to it then."

  "Of course, ma'am..." He turned before pausing and returning his gaze to her. "Permission to speak freely, ma'am."

  "Granted, Captain."

  "Speaking of supplies—we're dedicating quite a bit of food and alcohol reserves to this banquet, not including manpower. I know it will be good for morale amongst the officers and research staff, but are you certain the Moff's compliance will really be worth it?"

  Daala's eyes flashed with irritation. Wish you hadn't asked. "I can't be sure, Captain, it's a gamble. However, as you said, we're about to launch a campaign against the New Republic. We could use a morale boost around here."

  He hesitated a moment, lingering as if unsure whether to leave or not before asking his next question. "This campaign... is it about vengeance, or are we really trying to rebuild the Empire?"

  Daala avoided looking at him, instead analyzing the fleet details on her datapad. She was silent for a long moment, the question hanging between them like a shadow. Finally, she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper.

  "I haven't decided yet, Captain."

  "Very well, ma'am. Either way, it's been a pleasure serving under you." This time, he truly turned and left, leaving her alone in the office with the question rattling in her mind. Is the Empire worth rebuilding, or do I simply want to make the Rebels bleed?

  She looked at the time on her datapad. Almost time for that banquet. It felt so pointless now—things were in motion, ships were being deployed to combat, and yet she was still entertaining the Moff's delusions of grandeur to... what? Squeeze some information out of her?

  She shook her head as she looked over the information on the datapad, the administrator notes for Project: Memory Dive. She might end up testing that project out depending on how the banquet went. She swiped through her communiqué logs and scowled at the message that appeared: 'Attempt to revoke Tarkin's security access failed.'

  So the girl still has full security access and Murne has an entire lab of security droids she could just take command of, she thought, her jaw tightening. I'll need to keep her too busy to use it until those splicers can do their jobs properly.

  She stood up and straightened her long coppery red braid of hair, then smoothed out her uniform before checking her reflection in the mirror. Her pressed uniform bore no creases, no flaws—an armor woven from discipline and spite, her hair straight and organized. She stood before herself, proud and unbroken, just what she wanted to see. She stepped across the office and pushed the button for her door to open.

  "Honor guard, on me." Without delay, the four stormtroopers formed a square around her.

  "Where's the banquet to take place?"

  "Old barracks that fell out of use, ma'am," one replied crisply. "Commander Fredja already spent the last few hours overseeing that we emptied it out and set it up like a dining room."

  "Good, good. Take me there now."

  *******

  So-mi pulled the panel aside, examining the wiring inside. Finally, my chance. She slowly loosened the wire, just enough that it wouldn't connect properly but enough that at a glance it would seem properly connected. I pull this and the maglocks won't release automatically. They'd have to release the maglocks manually. She took a look around the hangar bay. If I can get even half the TIEs this way, that'll be quite a problem for the Imperials.

  The sound of whirring and Wookiees communicating filled the air around her. She had just started reapplying the panel when she was interrupted by the Junior Officer's voice. "At attention, slave."

  Every fucking time I finally have the chance to actually break something, this asswipe suddenly appears. She turned to him—at this point she had made the conscious effort not to learn his name—and gave him a mocking half-hearted salute.

  "You're being reassigned for the day."

  Finally away from you, I hope. "Assigned where?"

  "You mean 'assigned where, sir.'"

  She exhaled with frustration, her voice filled with venom. "Of course. Assigned where, sir?"

  "You'll be attending to the admiral's banquet. I'll be leading you up there shortly."

  How the fuck am I supposed to sabotage a ship from a fucking banquet? So-mi clenched her jaw, glancing regretfully at the panel she'd been working on. Across the hangar bay, she could see the old Wookiee, Awughwugh, watching her with cautious eyes. She gave him a subtle nod that she hoped conveyed her message: I'll be back. Keep the others ready.

  The junior officer's eyes followed her gaze. "Don't get any ideas about your furry friends. Remember that fancy dress you'll be wearing doesn't change what you are."

  So-mi bit back a sharp retort, aware of the control device hanging from the officer's belt. Another time, she promised herself as she followed him toward the turbolift. There will be another chance.

  ******

  "Captain Brusc, we're in position."

  Brusc didn't turn from the viewing port to address the bridge officer, keeping his eyes on the dead, empty space around them. "Very good. And our prey should be arriving shortly if the information Mullinore received from the Murrietta Raid was accurate."

  "So we're just going to sit by this Hyperspace Beacon and wait for a cargo convoy to drop out of hyperspace?" The officer's voice was skeptical, tinged with inexperience.

  "You never worked on any anti-piracy operations?"

  "No, sir."

  Brusc sighed, his breath briefly fogging the transparisteel viewport. "Long journeys in hyperspace often require a series of smaller hyperspace jumps so that ships can avoid shadows and similar obstacles. The convoy will drop out of hyperspace near the beacon to manually change its direction and realign itself with the Hyperspace route before making its next jump. And we'll be waiting to strike when it does. The oldest trick in the piracy book."

  He turned away from the viewport, noticing the doubt still etched on the officer's face.

  "And we know for certain a convoy will be using this exact nav beacon?"

  "Yes, that would be what our intel suggested..." Brusc's eyes narrowed as he studied the tactical display. "Transmit to the Dimachaerus to get into attack position. Get ready to scramble our fighter wings and get our Crusaders into a screening formation around the Dimachaerus. We will pull back for now and observe how well the Dimachaerus performs in combat."

  The officer snapped to attention. "Very good, sir."

  Brusc folded his hands behind his back, gazing once more at the endless void beyond the viewport. Somewhere out there, a New Republic convoy was about to make its final hyperspace jump—unsuspecting prey being drawn into an imperial web.

  The massive form of the Dimachaerus loomed in the darkness, its Cortosis hull absorbing what little starlight penetrated this distant corner of space. For a moment, Brusc allowed himself to envision the Empire restored to its former glory, with him at Daala's side as she took her rightful place among the Imperial elite. But first, they needed supplies—and the courage to spill blood in the name of a dream many thought was already dead.

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  Soon, he thought, as the scanner began to ping with the first signs of approaching ships. Very soon.

  ********

  The banquet hall reeked of recycled air and desperation. Lumaflecks flickered like dying stars, casting Leonia's violet eyes in fractured light. Gazrael stood dutifully by her as yet another imperial officer in a green navy uniform approached her in a manner that was becoming dreadfully routine. Moff Tarkin, pleased to meet you, he thought mockingly. I'm heebedeboodee and I do herpiddyderpiddy scoopidy. At least she's enjoying the spotlight.

  He watched as Leonia smiled, greeted the officer, shook his hand, and exchanged small talk, so convincingly that he doubted any of these officers realized their aristocratic leader, while a real Tarkin, was actually a bratty cargo girl that preferred doing her nails over working. While her smile was feigned and a mask as part of her 'Moff Tarkin' persona, he could feel from how she held his hand that she did truly enjoy the moment—the attention, the ability to play a character so convincingly and so publicly.

  His belly rumbled loudly. I thought a banquet meant dinner, not just standing around chatting. At this point, he wasn't even sure if Leonia was still meeting new officers or was having repeat conversations, as the number of middle-aged human men in green uniforms that approached her seemed to be coming straight off an unseen factory conveyor belt.

  He lifted his glass, tasting the facility's flavorless "whiskey" once again, when suddenly he felt Leonia's grip on his hand tighten. The joy suddenly gone, she clenched up and pulled him to the left, muttering angrily. "Why is she here?"

  He glanced to the right, toward what Leonia was pulling him away from, and saw Valkor near the wall of the "dining room." Her long black hair's elegant braids were now themselves braided into more elaborate braids, held in place with a tactical employment of silver hairpins. She wore an austere matte black dress that hugged her elegant form tightly as she chatted with some of the facility's research staff. Gazrael quickly returned his gaze to Leonia's short form as she tried to weave him to the other side of the room, rudely ignoring several imperial officers as she did so.

  "Moff Tarkin, pleased to—"

  "Ahh I'm comms offic—"

  She stopped as they reached the opposite end of the room, as far from Valkor as she could lead him. The insinuation spoke for itself. Keep your eyes on Leonia.

  "You know I promised eyes only for you, right?"

  She looked at him, her face still bristling with anger, but her tone soft. "You did."

  "Don't trust me to keep the promise?"

  She looked away, her violet eyes surveying the crowd. How she could see anything when her eye level was about the same as most people's shoulder height was beyond him. "You did keep it... you didn't even notice So-mi is here."

  He restrained the urge to check and see if she was being honest, couldn't be sure if she said that as a test. He kept his gaze on her. "You still don't trust me."

  She looked back at him and hesitated, her grip on his hand tightening again. "I trust you... I just—"

  She was cut off as another officer approached. "Moff Tarkin, pleasure to meet you. Dr. Murne, I oversee droid development and Project Silence." Just like that, she was sucked back into the routine, her face and tone expertly faking a happy and content Moff enjoying the party being held for her, but her grip was still tight, her conversation with the scientistslipping into one of many discussions that filled the air.

  Leonia smiled at Murne and extended her free hand. “Ah yes, Project Silence. Essential work you're doing.”

  Leonia stated it confidently enough that Murne seemed to not pick up on the fact she had no idea what Project Silence was, instead he beamed before adjusting his collar. “Ahh its not the most impressive project at Revan, attaching signal jammers to old CIS assassin droids, the old spider like ones and reprogramming them to stalk and avoid confrontation rather than kill. The idea was you could signal jam Rebel cells and insurgencies from making communications without them ever realizing they were being blocked.”

  Leonia tried deepening her smile despite how boring this conversation was cracking up to be, her eyes forward enough Gazrael noted her still avoiding gazing at where Valkor stood. “Ahh so a kind of infiltration droid the Rebels would never find.”

  “Yes.” Murne took a sip of his drink. “The model works splendidly, only kills on command or in self defense, has some added thrusters to navigate zero gravity environments, the jammer works, but the Admiral thinks the project is a waste, never gave her a ‘delivery system’ to deploy them which makes them useless for her kind of naval engagements but I tell ya, once the ISB gets their hands on em.”

  “So they’re well tested.” Leonia questioned probingly.

  “Mostly in house tests, not much field testing, but we were able to leave a few on an incursion craft less than a week ago, Silver Sparrow or something, you could ask Commander Fredja about the security breach, but before the ship escaped Captain Mullinore was able to get a few on it and let it run a bit before the he made the kill. The ship was dead quiet the entire time.”

  Gazrael’s attention shifted for just a second. That weird wreck they’d found, that interference that made no sense, some kind of experimental imperial droid likely stalking them the entire time without being seen. Chilling in hindsight. Had they accidentally cornered a machine they didn't know was there, they might be dead now. Leonia hadn’t set foot on the Silver Sparrow though, to her this information was just boring recitations of a Tarkin family project, some droids that just skulked around being creepy, not enough to stop her gazes around the room trying to measure Valkor’s position.

  She trusts my faith not to wander; she just doesn't want to put her trust to the test. Gazrael thought. Every time Leonia’s eyes fell on Valkor again, she seemed to flinch slightly, as if feeling a ghost pain. It would be impossible for him to know what she was feeling, but even he noticed the way Leonia's eyes specifically avoided a very specific point in the room and it dawned on him. It's not about trusting me—Valkor... scares her?

  All around Gazrael were dozens of curt discussions of small talk, an impenetrable maze of words—some genuine, some lies, and some designed to hurt—as he realized Leonia wasn't the only one using this event to try and climb social ladders. It seemed every officer and scientist in the facility was doing the same, all except Admiral Daala, who remained seated at a large table, merely observing.

  Gazrael pulled his attention from his brief glance at Daala back to Leonia, focusing on her—an act made easier by the fact that she was by far the most beautiful sight in the room he had seen. Perhaps Valkor or So-mi might be potential competitors for that claim, but he certainly wasn't going to swivel his head to check. He promised full attention on Leonia tonight, and he'd follow through.

  Across the room, Valkor had to tighten her expressionless mask to stop her face from dropping as Liam approached her once more. "Do you think maybe we could have a dance together?"

  She rolled her eyes before putting on her fake smile and turning to him. "Was there a dance floor? I wasn't aware that this event was a ball."

  His face fell a little, but his enthusiasm seemed undeterred. "Well, sure there's no dance floor, but there's some space over there." He gestured to a near-empty corner.

  "Oh Liam, you're so..." annoying "...sweet to ask, but I'm afraid I'm much too clumsy to dance in such a small space." She looked around, trying to find an exit—a researcher she could claim to need to discuss notes with, an Imperial officer she could say she needed security clearance from, or even just a knife to end her misery with.

  She'd made a grave mistake trying to entertain him for that access to Garrett. Now that he thought she had flirted with him, he was trying to hold onto her like a tooka to a fresh cut of meat. She could practically smell his desperation for her approval like it was a pheromone cologne.

  "You... clumsy?" He took a quick swig of his drink. "Why, I must say that's unexpected. You always seem to carry yourself around with such a feline grace."

  Her fake smile almost twitched into a real smile for a fraction of a second. So he can be smooth, how unexpected. "Even loth-cats fall out of trees, Liam."

  Liam paused for a moment as she watched him trying to recalibrate, moving from asking her to dance to some other avenue for building intimacy with her. They were interrupted by a blue-skinned woman with pink hair in a scanty pink dress, carrying a tray of drinks that she strategically used to block the view of her body permitted by her outfit. No doubt it wasn't an outfit she chose for herself. Her voice was disinterested with a hint of irritation.

  "Either of you want whiskey?"

  Liam looked annoyed at the interruption. "Your attitude could use an improvement, slave."

  "Yeah... that's what they kept telling me at the dry dock too. You gonna take a drink or not?" The slave didn't actually reach to offer him any of the glasses, clearly expecting him to do it himself.

  "What is your name, slave? Who's your supervisor?" Liam set his drink down, straightening his shoulders as if trying to make himself look more intimidating, not that the blue-skinned slave seemed even remotely intimidated by him either way.

  "So-mi Syung, and my slave driver is..."

  Liam stepped forward. "Is?"

  Valkor watched the slave shrug. I like her spirit. She looked at Liam, who was clearly still angry at the slave for interrupting what he probably thought was his chance to steal a romantic moment, and felt a bit of disgust. Then it hit her. So-mi Syung, the Koiyokan's captain before it was captured... I'm glad she seems tough. I'll need to track her down and talk to her again later in private.

  "Didn't catch his name," So-mi said nonchalantly, causing Liam to step forward, raising his hand to strike her. Valkor reached forward, grabbing his arm to prevent him, her nails digging crescent marks in his skin.

  "Do. Not." Valkor's icy voice seemed to catch Liam off guard, and he lowered his hand quickly before clearing his throat. She withdrew her own hand, trembling as she tried to keep her emotionless mask tight, wiping it on the nearest tablecloth as if scrubbing off his residue—the same way she'd scrubbed her own blood away after Coruscant Shock Troops silenced the nurses' petitions with blasters and batons.

  The memories surged: screams, breaking bones, the acrid stench of ionized burns. Her arms prickled where stun batons had scorched her skin. The woman she'd been—the one who believed in petitions, not pain—had died that day. Now, she hated reminders. Almost as much as she hated Liam.

  "I was just reminding this slave of her place." His eyes flashed with uncertainty.

  "Her name is So-mi Syung. You just asked her name—use it. And her place is here working with the rest of us."

  Liam looked taken aback. "She's a slave, a Pantoran, not even human."

  "Labor is labor, Liam. Don't think there isn't someone in this facility that sees you the same way you see her." She studied his face, unfazed by her polemics. "She's an asset in the Admiral's fleet repair. You'd do well to remember that certain interests in this facility are of higher concern than your ego." Valkor turned to So-mi. "Give us some privacy, please."

  So-mi set the tray down, readjusting her pink hair, briefly giving Valkor a view of her shock collar and the scorched peeling flesh underneath. Ah, a troublemaker... yes, she could be a very valuable ally in escaping this hellhole.

  She reached out for So-mi's shoulder, suddenly remembering an old slogan from the Phlebotomist's Union before she'd taken the contract for Revan Research Base: an injury to one is an injury to all. She reached into her purse and pulled out a small vial of painkillers and a small tube of antiseptic. "Don't let those burns get infected. You're a valuable asset."

  So-mi's fingers brushed the vial. Valkor's mind flashed to the drydock's stink, the way her own hands still smelled of soap, no matter how hard she scrubbed. So-mi's gaze flicked to Valkor's face. For a heartbeat, Valkor saw herself reflected in those eyes—not the uncaring enigma she'd crafted, but the starry-eyed unionist she'd buried a long time ago. Then So-mi pocketed the antiseptic with a smirk. "Valuable asset," she drawled. "Keep telling yourself that."

  Valkor watched So-mi leave, thinking how she'd make the supplies she just handed out disappear from the facility logs without raising suspicion, before turning her attention back to Liam. "I'm afraid, Liam, that your romantic advances towards me end here... we seem to have different ethical frameworks, particularly around labor rights. Feel free to take it personally."

  She paused, remembering her escape plan. Her jaw tightened. "I look forward to continuing our... off-the-books research together in a more professional manner."

  He looked bewildered. "You just gave her—... You're not allowed to do that... what is the meaning of all this?"

  She looked around. Multiple imperial officers now had their attention on her and Liam, some even watching with amusement—Liam's public failure to score with the much-desired Salem Valkor turned into a public spectacle. She took his arm, pulling him further away from the audience, out the door, and into the relative privacy of the hallway. There were a few snickering comments; as much as she had not intended to humiliate Liam, it had happened anyway.

  She peered around the corner, making sure no one had followed, before she answered him. "Very perceptive, doctor. I gave her medicine. Can I still count on you to take the Gamma Shuttle past the gas shield?"

  "You can't be handing out medicine. You're not even a real doctor, you're just some phlebotomist that Dr. Horne lets run loose so that he can nap instead of working... why would I fly some dumb mission for you when I could be reporting you?" He narrowed his eyes.

  Valkor's mask broke as she bared her teeth in a snarl, any guilt about manipulating Liam's feelings for her suddenly melting away. "I'm more a doctor than you are. All you did was design a few trash compactors for the Death Star. You haven't even contributed any research to this facility in 6 years. The admiral is a hair's width away from having you shot out an airlock for being a drain of resources."

  She took a deep breath and smoothed her dress, the black fabric swallowing her rage whole. Her face settled—cool, detached, untouchable, restoring her mask of indifference. "You're going to help me because you took Garrett Liosco into your private quarters to ask him questions about Restricted Information, trying to bypass the Admiral's orders... so are you going to fly that Gamma Transport for me, or shall I inform the admiral about your behavior?"

  Liam's jaw clenched, his earlier bluster crumbling. "You wouldn't dare."

  "Wouldn't I?" Valkor tilted her head, her voice honeyed steel. "Daala executes traitors. Trying to pry into Garrett's interrogation makes you one. The shuttle or the airlock—choose."

  He staggered back, whiskey sloshing in his glass. "You're insane."

  "No," she said, turning away. "I'm your only chance."

  ***********

  Just as the Dimachaerus had finished moving into position and the Manticore had pulled back the first New Republic ship dropped out of hyperspace precisely where Brusc had anticipated, within moments the Dimachaerus was firing at the unexpecting MC75 as more New Republic ships dropped out of hyperspace around it.

  “Just as planned.” He smiled, Mullinore’s information was correct and Daala had planned accordingly, now he just had to cinch their victory himself. “Send all our fighters forward to meet the Rebel fighters squadrons, redirect our Crusaders to not engage any fighter craft, they are to use their lascannons to intercept and destroy all projectiles that endanger Dimachaerus”

  On the MC75’s bridge, Captain Veshra slammed her fist on the console. “Shields at 12%! Divert power from engines, and use our momentum to bank right to block its fire—buy time for the transports!” The crew scrambled, their faces lit by emergency flares, burnt circuitry choked the air—acrid and metallic—as the MC75’s crew coughed through smoke. A junior officer screamed as a conduit exploded, but Veshra stood firm. “Aim for their sensor array! Blind the damn thing!”

  Before Brusc the lights and blaster fire streaked like a beautiful ever-shifting canvas. A smile slowly crept up his lips as the combined turbolaser fire of the entire New Republic convoy had no effect against Dimachaerus’s Cortosis shell, any concussion missiles or Proton Torpedoes quickly intercepted and destroyed by the Crusader Corvettes that screened it, it was exactly what Tarkin had hoped for, with just a little bit of support it could single handedly dismantle a fleet.

  Captain Veshra gripped her console watching as her Turbolaser fire seemed to helplessly dissipate against the shell of the Star Destroyer. “What is that?! Get those transports out—” A turbolaser struck the viewport, her final order drowned in static. The MC75’s hull screamed under the Dimachaerus’s barrage, its shields flaring violet before collapsing. Escape pods jettisoned like seeds from a ruptured fruit, only to be vaporized in the crossfire. Brusc watched, unblinking. Mercy had no place in rebirth.

  He turned from the viewing port. “And that gentlemen, is how we will rebuild our empire. Pull forward to engage the Rebel Cargo ships, target the engines to disable them, do not destroy them, we want the cargo intact.”

  “Yes, sir, for the Empress.”

  “The Empress?” Brusc took a moment to consider the words, taking a title that grandiose would surely make her the enemy of not just the New Republic, but also many other imperials with delusions of grandeur. A dangerous title for her and yet it seemed that whatever she wanted her men now deemed her to be just that, their empress, and if she was to be his new Empress then he’d ensure her reign started with a massacre to set the tone for her new era.

  ***********

  Finally when Gazrael was certain his stomach would grumbles loud enough to push its way out of his belly dinner was properly started and the banquet's attendees left their mingling to their seats, he had the misfortune of being seated next to Leonia who herself was seated next to Daala, some kind of visual metaphor to suggest that the Moff Tarkin and Admiral stood together. Glasses clinked to the rhythm of forced laughter. Somewhere, a server droid whirred—a mechanical dirge beneath the fray. Occasionally So-mi could be heard disinterestedly asking if someone would like a drink.

  He jabbed at some kind of gangly spindly meat with his fork before tentatively putting it in his mouth, a mistake since he found the flavor to taste like curdled bantha milk. His gut instinct was to spit it out but he remembered he was being watched, measured as an extension of Leonia's strength and value and so he forced himself to swallow. The things I do for her.

  He turned to her, still stabbing the strange meat as he muttered “What the fuck is this?”

  “Oh Gazrael it's aged Kyorcat, and it's a delicacy.” She smirked, as she took a sip of wine.

  The Kyorcat’s sinews glistened under flickering lumas, its gamey stench clashing with the antiseptic tang of recycled air. Gazrael poked it like a dead thing—which, he supposed, it was. “No, Leonia, it's actually disgusting.”

  He spun his plate around finding what had obviously been ration mash that was seasoned to make it seem like fine dining material and started eating that instead. “I appreciate a delicacy, but that Kyorcat tastes like they've been aging it since the Mandalorian Wars.”

  She dramatically stabbed her fork into her own Kyorcat and lifted it to her mouth, chewing it with slow and dramatic motions, her eyes fluttering before she swallowed. “It tastes fine to me.”

  “Did they surgically remove your taste buds at the academy?”

  She snickered a little. “Oh darling, I assure you if you ate what we were served at the academy you'd be begging for kyorcat instead.”

  “Yeah well, the ration mash is better than the kyorcat.”

  Leonia reached over and brushed his hair behind his ear. “Oh darling, you have the palette of a child.” She leaned into his shoulder, her earlier tension dissolving. For a moment, they were just two idiots laughing over bad food.

  “Are you two done flirting?” Daala's voice interrupted them, clipped and disinterested in their discussion.

  Leonia rolled her eyes and turned to the admiral. “We aren't interested in a third, admiral.”

  Daala’s face twisted with discomfort. “Charming. But I assure you I wasn't interested.”

  Leonia waved her hand dismissively. “That's fine, most of your staff is.” She beamed smugly. “Everyone is interested in me, but only one can have me.”

  Daala turned her gaze back to her plate and muttered. “No accounting for taste in men, I see.” She then looked at Leonia speaking as if Gazrael wasn't even present. “May I ask exactly what is so fascinating and intriguing about your fiancé? He lacks rank, pedigree, or tactical acumen” He’s not much of a looker either. “Just seems one of your standing could find a much more suitable partner.”

  “I'm so glad you could ask.” Leonia looked adoringly at Gazrael and reached out, taking his hand. Leonia widened her eyes theatrically, pitching her voice to carry. “He’s the only thing that matters, Admiral. Without him, I’d simply… evaporate.” She twirled her wine glass, catching Daala’s disgusted glare.

  “Can you… elaborate on that?” Daala's voice was thoroughly unimpressed.

  Gazrael giggled seeing the deviousness in Leonia’s eyes. “No, because that doesn't matter, only I do.”

  Leonia giggled at his response before speaking in a careless sing-song voice. “We're going to die together and rot into the soil until our bodies return to dust mixing in the breeze of fate so that we are bound forever.”

  “That… you're not saying anything.” Daala’s voice was was tinged with regret. Why did I ask?

  Leonia ignored Daala, her violet eyes meeting Gazrael's brown eyes, her lips quivering in a barely suppressed grin as she began reciting exactly what he had told her in her quarters on the Koiyokan from memory as if it was a soul binding vow. “Love is just a chemical and your chemical floods my brain like pheromones, makes me forget that you’re like a walking war crime, luring me to sleep. I can’t sleep any longer without a fresh injection. I’m too worried that if you’re alone, that will be the last time I taste it. I can smell its scent lingering in me, a part of me now, trying to find its way back to you, overwriting my ability to feel like myself without you.”

  Gazrael paused for a moment, now realizing how unhinged his first confession of love for her had been, when he was still trying to convince himself he didn't love her, but he couldn’t help but smile a little that the words had had such a strong effect on her. I’m so gonna need to take her to a psyche when we get out of here, he thought. And yet despite that thought he couldn’t help but beam proudly as Leonia finished the declaration with a dramatic flourish of her hands. I just hope that getting her help doesn’t change her too much.

  Daala’s fingers tightened around her fork, her knuckles whitening. A nearby officer subtly edged his chair away from the trio. The girl is a fucking lunatic. And yet Daala still knew that she had more questions for Leonia, she had just chosen the least important question first hoping to disarm Leonia. The Admiral’s jaw twitched. She’d interrogated domestic terrorists less evasive than this. “Your theatrics bore me, Moff. Control your… temperament before it contaminates my facility.”

  *************

  Brusc smiled as the battle turned into a mop up, without the MC75 leading is leet the various corvettes and light frigates escorting the fleet, still the Dimachaerus continued its rampage, its secret vulnerability had yet to be discovered by the Rebel ships with the Crusader Corvettes successfully intercepting any physical projectiles before they could strike true, proton torpedoes and concussion missiles alike being neutralized as threats.

  Aboard the MC30 Alderaan’s Vengeance Lieutenant Kuarth clutched her command board, her furry feline knuckles hurting from the pressure, but she couldn't relax them. “Bring us in closer, keep firing everything we can.”

  “Ma'am, our shields are down, that would be suicide.”

  She glared at the twi’lek subordinate. “I gave an order.” Before returning her vision forward. Those Corvettes are completely ignoring our fighters to intercept our torpedoes, that must be the secret.

  An alarm went off as the ship rumbled, almost throwing her from her perch. “Ma'am, they've blown our ammo storage and main thrusters.”

  Lieutenant Kuarth gritted her fangs. As if fate itself is defending that thing, our torpedoes are gone. “Are we still drifting?”

  “Yes, ma'am and quickly.”

  “Put us into collision course with that damn thing and issue orders for all personnel to use the escape pods.” She glared at the Dimachaerus through the escape pod. “Let's find out why they seem so concerned about projectiles.”

  The ship rumbled again as green turbolaser fire marked their hull, the smell of scorched metal and ozone was thick enough to choke on, but she didn't flinch for a second as her men scurried around her.

  “Ma'am the last escape pod is waiting.”

  “Go… someone needs to keep our course set.”

  The twi’lek subordinate hesitated. “It was… an honor serving you, ma'am.”

  “Likewise, now go, your family will want to see you again.” Doubt flashed through Kuarth, all her survival instincts told her to turn and run for that escape pod, but she held steady, thousands of New Republic personnel deserved vengeance this day and she'd see they received it, lifting her hand to lick its matted fur clean as she saw the Dimachaerus get lethally close through the viewing port, before leaving her perch to take the controls and keeping her course steady against the barrage of imperial fire trying to bat the ship away. “For the Republic.”

  Aboard the Manticore. Brusc had just popped a small bottle of champagne to celebrate his victory. “Sir, our boarding crews have landed inside the Rebel Cargo ships, they should be secured shortly and then we can begin the cargo transfer.”

  He already imagined his return to Revan Research Base, imagined Daala giving him an award, possibly a promotion, he'd be the first to receive such honors from the fledgling Empress.

  “They're on a crash course… sir, the Dimachaerus is requesting we redirect all turbolaser batteries to that Rebel cruiser.” The voice pulled him from the daydream to witness it, the Rebel cruiser had already had multiple sections blown free but it barreled forward with a vengeance, Brusc opened his mouth to give the orders to fire but it was already too late.

  Kuarth’s claws extended, embedding in her console. ‘Collision course. Damaged thrusters.’ She ignored the alarms, the heat and her own desire to flee. The Dimachaerus loomed, its hull gleaming like a tombstone. “Finish it.” She whispered for her invisible audience as the cruiser crashed into the Dimachaerus’s hull, creating a blinding flash as its reactor went nova forcing Brusc to cover his eyes.

  The Cortosis hull that had handled turbolaser and ion fire without issue cracked beneath the weight of the ram maneuver. Cortosis repelled energy, not momentum. The alloy fractured like glass under the MC30’s ruined hull, spider webbing cracks across the Star Destroyer’s spine, it would have been a mild blow to a normal star destroyer, but to the Dimachaerus that was a crippling hit, without even waiting for orders or confirmation it lurched forward as its commander ordered it into hyperspace leaving the Manticore and it's crusader corvettes to finish cleaning up. The champagne’s sweetness turned acrid in Brusc’s mouth. Behind him, the Dimachaerus’s crippled frame vanished into hyperspace, leaving a scar of ionized plasma—a wound the Empire couldn’t afford.

  Brusc’s champagne flute shattered in his grip. Blood dripped unnoticed. “Get the cargo transfer underway, take your time, I'm not in the mood to see the Admiral.”

  ************

  Gazrael lifted up his plate as he now scooped his remaining Kyorcat on to Leonia's plate while she giggled as Daala watched judgmentally, both of them so caught up in the antics of annoying the Admiral that they'd almost forgotten they had come here to make a good impression. “There you go Starlight, you can have the delicacy all to yourself.”

  “Ahh Gazrael you're far too kind, but I don't need that much protein.” She used her fork trying to lift pieces back onto his plate. “You don't want me getting fat do you?”

  Gazrael smirked, “Yes, I'm fattening you up to be a much better feast then that fucking Kyorcat is.”

  Daala exhaled, gripping her fork hard enough to bend it, her voice trembling as she tried to calmly continue speaking, quietly enough to still go unheard by most of the banquet attendees. They have the maturity of children. “Your fiancé’s questioning strongly insinuated that Wilhuff Tarkin died over Yavin 4.”

  Leonia rolled her eyes as Daala distracted her from her game yet again. “Yeah, what about it?”

  “Was that insinuation correct?”

  “Oh yeah Wilhuff is dead… like dead dead, didn't even attend his own funeral because there wasn't a body left to bury kind of dead.” Leonia giggled again. “I mean I may have only been 12 but I was the star of the funeral, it took me weeks of practicing to cry that convincingly.”

  “You didn't mourn him?”

  “Lady, he's my dad's cousin, you talk to your dad’s cousin a lot?” Leonia didn't wait for a response. “Didn't think so.”

  Gazrael butted in. “I don't think I've ever even talked to my dad's cousin.”

  “Exactly darling, it's weird.”

  “Most of your family lived in the same estate, I'd expect you to be well acquainted.” Daala dropped her fork on her plate and raised her finger to Leonia. “Wilhuff was a great man, a brilliant mind, an innovator–”

  Leonia interrupted her. “Ahhh you had a crush on him.” Suddenly her face puckered, a sign of disgust. “Oh my god how could you, he was so old, like 100 years old.”

  “I didn't like him like that–”

  “You were never even his favorite anyways Natasi, he always preferred Ellian Zahra, that's why she got to die trying to avenge him and you were stuck here processing bureaucratic slips to recycle urine into drinking water.”

  “What did you just call me?”

  Oh she didn't think I'd remember her. Leonia smirked. “Oh please, there weren't that many redheads stalking around Wilhuff's shadow at the old estate. Just because I was a kid doesn't mean I don't remember things, Natasi.”

  “Funny, I barely remember you at all, brat.”

  Excuse me?! Leonia's mocking glee in an instant to irritation. “What? You been meeting a lot of young girls with violet eyes?”

  “No, I remember people by their merit and accomplishments, not their appearance… you simply weren't worth keeping in mind.” Daala's jaw tightened as she finished the statement. And yet I burned a significant amount of resources on this banquet hoping I could salvage something of value from her, she dropped the thought and refocused “Now, stop wasting my time, Moff. After Wilhuff died, who took the rank of Grand Moff?

  Leonia looked stunned for a second. No merit? You think I have no merit?! She reluctantly looked away. I'll fucking show her. She started stabbing her stringy Kyorcat meat again as she spoke. “Sander Delvardus took up the position of Moff of Seswenna sector, the Emperor deemed fit to give someone else the position of Grand Moff of the Greater Seswenna Oversector”

  Daala's irritated expression turned calculating. “Sander married into the family, surely they would have prioritized someone who was born a Tarkin to be Moff.”

  Leonia still kept her gaze on her food, reaching out and taking Gazrael's hand for reassurance, her grip like a vice. “Yeah well, after that we prioritized military accomplishment over blood and Sander had the best track record and it was still up to the Emperor to appoint the actual position, had to pick someone he'd approve of.”

  “So is Sander still the rightful Moff?”

  “No, he's dead. Went down trying to defend Eriadu after the Emperor died.” Leonia straightened up a little. “I introduced myself as Moff Tarkin didn't I? I'm the Moff now.”

  “And you weren't part of Eriadu’s defense?” Daala's voice raises with skepticism. “You just survived?”

  “Wouldn't get out of imperial academy until after Jakku and the New Republic government was formally studied.” Leonia still stabbed her kyorcat. “Technically didn't graduate, school ended too early for that.”

  “And if the Moff of Seswenna sector wasn't granted Grand Moff of the Greater Seswenna Over sector then who was?”

  Leonia sighed exasperated, stabbing her kyorcat like she was trying to murder it herself. “I just told you I was at the academy, why would I know? I was going simulated firefights and studying hyperdrive mechanics, not sitting in on the Emperor's person advisory.”

  Daala leaned back in her chair. That can't be right, she must know more. She thought, There must be something she won't tell me. Daala slid out her datapad into her lap before her fingers slid across the screen to send Commander Fredja a communicae. ‘Initiate Plan B, we're going to memory dive her.’ The clatter of silverware echoed like distant turbolasers. The air reeked of recycled oxygen and desperation, even her command staff and research crew didn't know what was about to happen.

  Leonia looked over at her. “It's rude to have electronics out at the table.”

  Daala gave her an apologetic smile. “My apologies, you're correct.” She slid the tablet away as she saw a stormtrooper approach from behind Leonia, she held up two fingers to signal he'd need to hit her twice.

  Pain shot through Leonia as the first stun bolt hit her she clenched her fork like a weapon, her vision blacked out as the second hit her. Gazrael grabbed his steak knife as he rose from his seat,but he was hit before he could lunge for the trooper. Three quick and precise shots was all Fredja needed for Daala's control of the situation to be restored.

  Daala felt every eye in the banquet now squarely centered on the scene she had just made and stood up. “Continue the party, help yourself to our alcohol reserves if it helps keep the mood lively… unfortunately the Moff and I will be predisposed.”

  Tentative chatter picked back up followed by the nervous clinking of glasses and awkward forced bouts of laughter amongst some of the researchers as she turned to march out of the room. At the doorway more stormtroopers followed Commander Fredja in. “Take the girl to Dr. Klein's lab and prepare her for his Memory Dive operation, the boy goes back to their quarters.”

  Commander Fredja paused. “Not to a cell?”

  “Correct, to their quarters, we have ways to make sure he cooperates.” Daala gestured to Leonia's unconscious body now being dragged away carelessly by two stormtroopers that didn't care much if she collected some bruises and cuts along the way. “He'll stay put and do what he's told, and he'll help us keep her in line. They've been the keys to controlling each other all along.”