I apologize this is a shorter chapter. I am already working on the next.

Enjoy.

【Ｌｏｃａｔｉｏｎ：　

ＤＳ－１　Ｏｒｂｉｔａｌ　
Ｂａｔｔｌｅ　Ｓｔａｔｉｏｎ

Ｐｒｉｖａｔｅ

Ｈａｎｇａｒ　１８３１】

SHE SWORE THERE WERE STILL GRAINS OF SAND IF SHE brushed under a certain grove in her scalp. Beneath a sandy veil of hair above her right ear was a raised crescent scar—an unspoken testament to a world where the line of survival had been ever razor thin. It was a souvenir from a piece of shrapnel hurled from Setur in an act of spite on the last Boonta Eve, all because she'd refused to yield to their final price after the exhaustive hours spent modifying the Dugs' illegal weaponry on their Pod.

The price of her defiance had come with a bludgeon to the head, Sebulba pilfering her newly-purchased tools as retribution. It would be months before she would reclaim even half of what he stole...

Thank the Force, I no longer have to service that karking poodoo.

Rivulets of water cascaded down the delicate contours of her backside, hints of flora saturating the steamed air. Fine oils gifted from a female comrade coated the razed skin. The criss crossed lesions from the penalty of wielding a sharp tongue, glistened underneath the dimmed lights.

Life as a slave had not been for the faint of heart but rather primed for those with a penchant for malice. Freedom was dangled as a commodity and ridiculed by those who preyed on the weak and drove a hard bargain to sate. Within the seedy alleys, humanoids and sentients were shackled, and subjected to unscrupulous vagabonds to be sold. Seniors that grew frail in nature collapsed in the streets from starvation after life in the spice trade sucked them dry. Their bodies worn from relentless years of mining in the caverns were left stacked on a cart and dragged off.

  Under laborious conditions, the children would peddle the streets for a peggat, left to suffer if the quo wasn't met by the merciless fist of a voracious merchant.

She thanked the stars fate had charted a different course for her.

  Flushed, bare feet stepped out onto the cool floors. Steam enveloped her body as she tightened the starched towel, her soft, hazel eyes reflecting back in the mirror. The fan overhead cleared away the fogged residue, unveiling a dust of freckles across raised cheekbones no longer gaunt from lack of nutrients. The bow of her lips were smooth rather than parched from a dry climate. Her eyes bore a sense of openness, swiftly overshadowed by the hard countenance in her arched brow.

A tribute to a rigorous upbringing.

Her fingers brushed the softened curve of her jawline as a touch of femininity. It startled her of the young woman gazing back. Instead of the gangly teen soiled in grime she'd fleetingly seen in puddles on Tatooine.

  Her C1 commlink suddenly chimed from the sinks ledge.

Ayen straightened and grabbed the small cylindrical device. Masking all thought, her lips parted above the mic grill. "Lieutenant Ayen... speaking."

"Lieutenant Ayen," came a brisk voice, a hint of annoyance detected in their gravelly tone due to her lack of surname. It had been quite the adjustment for the officers, but she couldn't honestly recall having one. "This is Grand Admiral Tarkin speaking..."

Wait, what? Oh feck.

Normally she answered to Commander Officer Sterling. The balding man whose gruff projection was distinct, had jurisdiction over her department and the engineering sector.

This was not normal protocol.

Admiral Tarkin was far above her pay grade. A Moff of his own sector. He was in league with the Sith Lord whom she'd unintentionally garnered the attention of, having supreme authority over the entirety of the stations operations.

Wait... The color drained from her face as her gut churned. Oh, Corellians hell...

"—report immediately to sub-hangar 1831, stat."

  Her private hangar?!

Her stomach soured, and Ayen swallowed her refute with a curt nod, "Yes, Grand Admiral, right away, sir."

Suddenly she had to use the fresher again.

.... ....

The banded collar felt too stifling against her neck.

A bead of sweat dribbled from the lining of her cap straight down her spine. Blast, did she hate this uniform. It was too constricting and wrinkled easily. If the four-bar plaque—which defined her rank— wasn't polished or pressed pants tucked neatly into knee-boots, she was sent back to her quarters until up to code.

Humiliation ensured, that it only happened twice before.

She held an erect posture, hands folded against her spine, as she re-focused her attention on Grand Admiral Tarkin.

Light hair was meticulously slicked back from a high forehead, the width said to hold a strategic brain. Donned in a crisp carbon-gray uniform with a decorated chest denoting his high status in the Empire. He was notably held at an even higher rank than the Supreme Commander. A mouthpiece to the Emperor, himself.

"—Lord Vader's ship sustained damage. Extensive repairs will be required upon his imminent arrival."

His voice held a cold, austere authority. Unwavering steel blue eyes narrowed beneath thin arched brows. With a hollowed face and a hawkish nose, he reminded her of a circling falcon, surveying the group with a calculative intelligence.

Thin lips pressed into a hard line as a vein in his temple twitched. "I expect the utmost efficiency from you four specifically, as was requested. There is no room for error..."

  Wait requested...?

It was rumored Lord Vader had been sent on a mission after a renowned Jedi was sited in the Outer Rim. For weeks he had been gone, leaving her punishment suspended until his return. Her team had been unexpectedly swamped with new upgrades to the TIE fighters, leaving repairs on the back burner as ordered. She'd remained on pins and needles, since.

  From afar he's kept a purposeful eye... kriffing hell...

Two fair-haired Dantooine twins towered over her from the left. Piercing blue eyes flashed with disdain at the Admiral as he paced agitatedly.

Zev and Mac.

Ceru flanked her right, his almond eyes wide with caution. Undoubtedly he was absorbing every word as the tremors through his body intensified.

Druk, she'd have to rectify that and fast.

"Now," Admiral Tarkin whirled around on a polished heel, tilting up the square of his chin. "I expect the ship ready for inspection by the next rotation."

She could see the cogs turning in the minds of her colleagues as this revelation was delivered. She witnessed the stress slowly thread through each expression beneath the brim of their caps, the situation mentally calculated

Harsh lights overhead cast the Grand Admiral's face in cold sterility, the docking azure lights refracting off his imperial insignia. In their cleared-out landing hangar, standing with one of the elite, the tension thickened. It tainted the sanctity of their place of how he looked down his nose. It was more imposing than the control stations overlooking the bay from the surveillance windows above.

It was as if they were no better than scraps thrown down the garbage chute.

Ayen bit down on her tongue, hard. At least she hadn't been assigned to strictly, a TIE hangar. Those ships were racked overhead and the gantrys constantly patrolled by the Imperial Military Police. Such technicians remained under a microscope which she did not wish to be placed under.

  She steeled her resolve, Zev and Mac's eyes on her as she raised her chin cooly, "It will be done, Grand Admiral. My team is fast and efficient at what they do if you check the reports."

  Bet your prude arse on it.

  She didn't say this aloud, but it was obvious her team was well acquainted with their boss's implied, fiery line of thought.

Zev started to cough, concealing a laugh. Mac nudged him with an elbow, the corner of his brothers lip curling.

  Ayen shot them a look. Now was not appropriate for their tomfoolery.

It was Ceru however, who spoke up in haste when the Admiral's eyes narrowed. "You can count on us, Grand Admiral. Ayen means what she says."

Tarkin's head cocked to the side, eyeing the soft-spoken boy.

"Lieutenant Ayen," the Admiral corrected sharply.

Ayen had to fight the urge not to elbow him in the ribs. She felt more than saw Ceru flinch, shifting his hands behind his back. "Of course," Ceru swallowed, "lieutenant, my apologies sir."

His nerves were going to get them in a detention cell block if she didn't rectify this.

"Grand Admiral," she cut in smoothly, re-directing his attention with a hardened gaze. "Officer DeGwaye stated it will be of no trouble. Consider it done by the next rotation, you have my word."

The Admiral eyed Ayen like a hawk as if to question her authority. He was about to refute—

  When the sub-hangar's wide, bay door whined open revealing the vast chasm of the galaxy. Silver starlight outlined the Empire's newest model of a Lambda-class shuttle leisurely descending.

Ayen felt her blood run cold while Ceru stiffened beside her.

Lord Vader had finally arrived.

________________________

Well then, I wonder what will happen. How are you liking our Ayen so far?

I tried to get rank and protocol right so I hope it lives up.

Index

Boonta Eve: A holiday on Tatooine involving the infamous pod racing events as seen in Episode I: The Phantom Menace.

Pod or podracer: A small ship used to race others during events such as Boonta Eve. (Anakin Skywalker used a yellow podracer in Episode I against Sebulba).

Dug: A sentient or alien species part of the Star Wars universe.

C1 Commlink: A handheld device used to communicate. (Like a phone or walkie talkie).