I like this chapter and I don't. It's one of those weird transition ones with a lot of information thrown in if that makes any sense... ooofta.

【Ｌｏｃａｔｉｏｎ：

ＤＳ－１　Ｏｒｂｉｔａｌ　

Ｂａｔｔｌｅ　Ｓｔａｔｉｏｎ

Ｎｅａｒ　Ｏｖｅｒｂｒｉｄｇｅ

Ｃｏｎｆｅｒｅｎｃｅ　Ｒｏｏｍ　Ｂ】

V A D E R
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  HE COULD FEEL HIS FINGERS TWITCH UNDER THE black elongated table that housed twelve seated men. Gloved hands itched for the controls of his ship. He yearned to be sent out of this Force-forsaken metal contraption of a battle station. He needed the reprieve of the skies, the stars at his helm and the planets to traverse. Anything but the mutinous routine his life on the Death Star had become.

  Unfortunately, since the rebel attack, the Emperor had grounded him.

  The metallic walls did little to assuage the irritation, prickling his skin, and threatened to lash out at the weakest link. He could hardly keep his temper in check while the station's top military and political officials continuously countered arguments to drive home their opinions.

  "It's not acceptable, especially when this stations construction isn't nearly complete!"

  "The Emperor will not tolerate such mistakes!"

  He was out of his seat before his next breath, blending seamlessly with the shadows, his fisted hands folded under his cloaked arms. The rapt action did little to startle other than a swift glance from the Grand Moff Tarkin, himself.

  It was more constructive for the Sith to hover in the background as their menacing threat. A tacit warning to his thinning patience with these sweating old men in uniform and their faded days of 'glory'. If just to remind them of their place in the food chain.

  The spherical table was arranged in a hierarchal design. Uniformly seated in the high-backed chair at the head, was the overseer himself, Willhuff Tarkin. Computer terminals linked to the central command computers were installed at each position of the table. The polished holoprojector emitted a red luminosity projecting a model of the three-dimensional DS-1 Orbital Battle Station.

  Colonel Yularen's severe brows pulled together, lips pulled taut from his mustache. Seated a chair over from Vaders vacated place he spoke, "Thorough investigation shows these rebels were not only impersonating cadets, but security trooper units. Intel gathered they enlisted around the same time to secure a position on this station."

  Tarkin's eyes flashed, vexed. "This is too organized to be the work of defectors! What critical information was taken from this station?"

  Orson Krennics features sharpened in severity across from him. His pressed white uniform was a stark contrast to the crisp carbon grey as the Director of Advanced Weapons Research, the man's ambitions often rivaling Tarkins own. He slammed a fist on the table. "No one could've gained access to the details of our stations weapon's system. As director, great lengths were taken to ensure that myself and my assistant, Erso, are the only ones with access."

  Tarkin's thin lip curled in clear derision of the man. Deep wrinkles framed his stern mouth. "Let's hope your passwords are more adept than they were in cadet school, director. The Emperor does not tolerate excuses as easily as your instructors did. Rough plans still made it into the rebels hands before retrieved from Scarif."

  The tension was palpable between the two rivals, Krennic desiring to surpass Tarkins rank. While Vader didn't care for Tarkins lap dog tendencies with his Master, he endured the Moff's presence throughout the latter's tenure in the position.

  Like a denizen of Krayts seeking to devour the other like a sack of meat, these men positively reeked of it.

  The major communications officer, Siward Cass nodded. His frosted hair was neatly combed back with a steepling of hands. A picture of seniority, he was Tarkin's aid—stooge— entrusted with secrets of the imperial government. Due to his extensive history with Tarkin, he frequently gave priority to the Moff's assessment of others. "Every lesser officer, staff, and trooper here is being cross-examined to see where allegiances lie."

  "No more risks will be acceptable," declared Moradim Bast, a recognized general of the Imperial Army's ground forces with notable sideburns. "Rest assured," His dark, beady eyes narrowed, "any seditionists found, will meet the firing squad after an extensive interrogation."

  "The Western Reaches have since been pacified. This, I saw to personally on the ground." The Battle Station Operations, General Hurst had emerged from retirement to facilitate the smooth operation of the station's procedures. The senior and visibly balding man from the rigors of service, pulled up a holographic tactical readout of each planet in that area. "Both rebels and lingering Separatists were eradicated on each of these planets."

  "But it hasn't prevented infiltrations into the academies." Trech Molock replied waspish, skin flushing to the roots of the Officer Corps' greying-auburn hair. "If such planets are considered pacified, the Rebellion will use this to their advantage thinking we are none the wiser. Security needs to be tightened, especially on our main bases. Several of the cadets were from Bespin. On Sullust, the Cobalt Labor's Reformation Front have sent several complaints to our officials on the ground. Due to the worker conditions of the miners—"

  "Enough we are veering off course here, gentlemen," Colonel Yularen interjected firm. "The bureau is handling these movements to root out any suspected radicals."

  "No, Officer Molock has a point." Cassion Tagge, the chief of the Imperial Army, swept an earnest gaze across every officer present. Those thick brows failed to overshadow the strained vessels in his eyes from the result of prolonged screen exposure. "Security measures need to be re-examined if there's room for more resistance. Especially on this station because rebels are still slipping through the cracks. Stricter debriefs need to be implemented before acceptance here and monthly reviews."

  "Room inspections are being doubled weekly with time rotations, to prevent complacency." Colonel Yularen informed.

  Tarkin stroked his chin in thought, "And the insurgents found here, have they been disposed of?"

  "The BAVO SIX was administered to those still alive. This insurgence appears to have been a rogue mission unauthorized." Colonel Yularen stated gruffly, his growing agitation visible. "These rebels acted alone, providing no useful information."

  "Perhaps there are internal fractures at play then," Tarkin mused. "Which gives the Empire an advantage if they have more sympathizers acting alone within their precious alliance."

  Vader's patience was on the razor edge, the room temperature steadily plummeting. It had taken a violent intrusion of the remaining survivors' minds to see nothing of value. Mere cogs in a machine; a dysfunctional unit comprised of reckless lower level ingrates that crumbled under pressure. The Interrogation Chamber AA was still undergoing sanitization to cleanse the morbidity he'd left behind.

  "Well, I can assure you, my troopers I trust immensely," stated snide newly appointed Captain Vincen Derlik. "They wouldn't dare involve themselves—

  Vader's hand was up even before the overly confident officer, whose name he cared little of, finished. Instantly the man's eyes widened like saucers that glossed over in fear. Pale hands flew to his throat from exerted pressure. Vader observed the quivering pulse that throbbed in the chief's neck under the grip of his force-choke. He stood half obscured in shadow, feeling the terror coil up the man's spine, following the erratic thu-thumps of his heartbeat. A ticking time bomb, death hovered at the precipice, the agonized cries of the man a bittersweet symphony that fueled a dark gratification upon hearing it.

  He's killing me!

  He preferred Admiral Motti over this quivering lump of flesh. At least Motti had been resilient. This officer was, in every sense, useless. Brainless and quite the cheat and gambler; he'd racked up a considerable amount of debt on the planet of Canto Bight, using the Empire's credits.

  I can't feel my hands anymore...

   Have mercy please my Lord!

  A dark laugh rumbled deep within his chest while the man's thoughts turned frenetic.

  Spineless.

  Asphyxiation caused the blood vessels in the eyes to eventually burst. The man would hardly feel it but the distinct pop that resonated would curdle the insides of even the proudest man here. The skin would slowly bruise over while his lungs screamed for just a pocket of air...

  He favored a quick finish.

  With an audible crack the man's neck was abruptly snapped in half, leaving his petrified corpse to drop to the floor with a thud. A few of the elite twisted their heads away from the gruesome display. Major Cass muffled a wretch in the handkerchief extracted. The stationed stormtroopers with top security clearance, promptly sprang into action. With practiced ease, they dragged the body away to dispose of it down the chutes.

  That was the third one this week.

  Vader was well and truly over it, whether the men themselves had finished this meeting. "Carry on, Tarkin."

  Tarkin shot him an annoyed glance and resumed the meeting like they hadn't just witnessed a live murder of one of their own. Typical bureaucrats.

  Vader was sure the Moff would rush to his Master like a loyal dog and report on his conduct, afterward. Having already dealt with the Emperor's ire hours before, he hardly cared. His punishments would only increase in severity once he was summoned to one of the Core Worlds. The capital of Coruscant for the upcoming Empire Day to commemorate the Empires birth. The same government officials attending the Emperor's lavish gala had their fates already sealed, impending once the Imperial Senate was dissolved.

Moves and countermoves.

  He flexed his fingers, clenching his jaw. He stalked down the hallways, imperials and personnel quickly bowing out of the path he blazed whilst settling a chill in their bones.

  He really needed to get off this damn station.

.... ....

A Y E N
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  The week had been hell.

  On top of officers barking out orders left and right, they were forced under intensive interrogations that left no room for error. Minute by minute, hour after hour, question upon question piled up. Random room inspections occurred at the most unearthly of hours, arousing a lecherous glint officers stoic facades failed to hide that had nearly seen her naked.

  She'd lost count the number of times she'd flipped them the finger.

  Plans for the infiltration were discussed at Pilkey's bar. When the recordings were discovered, the establishment was promptly shut down. Swarmed with ISB officials, Pike was later taken in for the same treatment they'd received. After two days, he'd officially been cleared a suspect and she'd thanked the stars. She'd managed to see him before he was confined to his room, sporting a busted lip until investigation wrapped.

  His haggard appearance and parting words had haunted her since.

  "It's become more evident that we're not as safe as they assume, Ayen. Friend or foe, they are an enemy. Watch yourself, kid—this group of rebels seemed far too organized..."

  She'd watched her back from a premature age. It was said survival of the fittest. After her parents' demise, her former Toydarian Master had no obligation to keep her in his service. Cast out into the streets, her chances of survival dwindled. Thus, at just four standard years old, she willingly revealed her technical abilities beyond those of a mere domestic child worker to the sentient.

  The greed that visibly shone in Watto's bulbous eyes once the mladlong bracelets had been slapped on was something she'd never forget. But it had taught her that sentiments and humanoids were not so different from each other. All galactic species were determined to prosper in the galaxy, yet equally willing to descend into compromised morality just as swiftly.

Despite everything she had been through in this lifetime, her humanity remained. Entering Hangar 1830, her nerves tingled in the pads of her fingertips, her eyes fixed on the scorch mark that, despite extensive repairs, still marred the polished floors and couldn't be effaced.

  The tremors began.

  White flash. A ringing in her ears...

  She blinked away the startling images, passing several factions she wasn't well acquainted with. At this early hour, the hangar wasn't nearly as populated. More security sentry droids wheeled around while armored stormtroopers patrolled the ground levels to the gantries above.

  She was quick to slip into her private bay with considerably less commotion. Only a few stormtroopers mobilized while guarding the singular blast door.

   Her proficiency in repairing ships, upgrading, and the occasional droid allowed her to remain here. She preferred her small cavity on the massive station under such complex and strenuous conditions. But there were many areas a technician could work in aboard the DS-1. Control rooms where sensor relays, flight-tracking systems, and ship to ship communications commenced while regulating the magnetic fields in each hangar.

Docking Bay 327 was the largest and most complex on the station. The control towers there were manned by a complete staff, including maintenance, medical, and flight personnel, along with droids. Adjacent to their power unit, there was an entire circuitry bay.

It was rumored the staff there hardly lasted beyond a year; the overturn rate extremely high. After the last attack, an Imperial defense droid had been placed in the bay area, honed with missiles and a stature of 18 feet according to Ceru.

  Her eyes settled on the gleaming Lambda-class shuttle at the opposite end as a scrubber droid zoomed past. Plugged into one of the few power cells, it towered imposingly similar to the day she'd piloted the ship.

  "Damn... I can't believe I flew that." Her voice came out in a near whisper while drawing closer, running her hand over the sleek finish. It seemed to ground her, forgetting the tremors likely related to a form of trauma in the explosion.

  Her mind was already running over the events of that day. How terrified she'd been, unknowingly acting under a concussion which she'd eventually succumb to. Vader had been a force of brutality and elegance in the way he'd fought off every single opponent so seamlessly. Viciously. A dance that only one as adept in the Force as he, could master.

  She hadn't seen him since that day in the med bay despite him giving her his direct line. All of them had been thrust into the thick of order while the behemoth sphere was turned inside out. Officers left breathing down their neck at every turn and endless reports submitted. A rigid curfew was now set in place, strict mealtimes cut to a measly five minutes with sleepers their only reprieve.

  I could really use a drink.

  "Force... not even the bars an option right now." She groaned, fingers curled into the rat nest of a bun she'd barely had time to pin back. Compliments of Officer Harlow, a prudish, rotund woman who had the gall to ransack her room just now. Using the fresher afterward was out of the question.

She glanced at the chrono embedded in the far wall.

  Great... it really is the crack of dawn. The boys wouldn't be up for at least an hour, yet. Here she was, wide awake and looking like hell, in a less than deserted station continuously run like a machine for the Empire.

  "Rough morning, Lieutenant?"

  "Of kriffing course..."

  Ayen didn't even bother turning around, feeling his presence ghost across the exposed slope of her neck. Her spine tingled upon his closer proximity.

He was just behind her, swallowing her shadow entirely with his own.

   Damn how did he do that?

  "Well," cool breath brushed against the shell of her ear, "this isn't for my health. Get on the ship. That's an order."

  "Okay," She whirled around, her lack of tact evident from sheer exhaustion. "I haven't had caf, much less a decent wink of sleep before my quarters were ransacked." She rubbed her hands together frustratingly. "Half of your officers have nearly seen me naked. These ridiculous inspections are always timed, I swear, to coincide with when I'm in the shower!"

  She saw a muscle in his jaw flex beneath his hood. The shadows seemed to gather around him, darkening his voice right then. "If that is the case, it will be dealt with by my hand, personally. Now, get on the fucking ship."

  Oh hell, she'd pressed her limits.

He was in a severe mood: cold as a dead star and twice as lethal. "Yes, Lord Vader," she crisply responded and started for the hatch.

<3 I hope everyone has a wonderful Christmas I love you all.

Index

Chrono: clock basically to tell the time.

Caf: coffee basically in the Star Wars universe.