Episode II - Full Stop - Finale

The Absolute limped towards the Santeeg Shipyards at a quarter power. Though still traversing hyperspace, the ship moved slower than if it was at full strength. The trip, impossible outside of hyperspace, was still going to take a long time. Three standard days instead of merely hours. Reidus Kain, for one, didn’t mind the extension. He sat at a table in the commissary with Fen Dolan and Solay Vardis, sipping a hard drink and staring at the wall. Yesterday, they had been fighting for their lives. Today, drinks with survivors. Friends. It was a strange life.

“You think Captain Fordice knew more than he was saying?” asked Dolan. The pilot had been with the crew of the Bold Born right until Tarkin’s own special-forces had rescued them. “I didn’t get a read either way.” Dolan had been brought back to The Absolute unceremoniously. The Bold Born crew had been taken to Tarkin’s ship, The Sovereign, first, and Dolan hadn’t heard any scuttlebutt until he’d been debriefed.

“Hard to say,” said Kain, still staring. He shook it off and turned towards his friend. “You’d know best having been with them till the end, and if you didn’t get that impression, I wouldn’t assume anything.” Kain attempted to deflect, but he had his own suspicions. Sarcune had been cagey in the debriefing, explaining Tarkin’s sudden appearance on planned reinforcements, but Kain hadn’t bought the story. However, he’d decided not to press the Captain. At least not yet.

“We lost a lot of good men out there,” said Vardis. Her head was down, and Kain detected a slight, almost imperceptible quiver in her voice when she said it.

“Hey, those boys gave their lives doing what they do best,” said Kain. “We were facing a force unlike anything I’ve ever seen, and we came out on top. That’s due to them as much as any of us.”

“Indeed,” said Bardox, striding into the commissary, followed, of course, by Krix and Tallsun. “They are heroes of the Empire. Their sacrifice was not in vain.”

“Empire?” scoffed Dolan. “This wasn’t about the Empire! This was about saving lives, and doing the right thing!”

“One in the same,” said Bardox, unfazed.

“When one part of the Empire suffers, the whole suffers,” said Krix, his monotone seeming somehow more robotic than even a droid.

“Scrap!” spat Dolan. Kain put a hand on his friend’s shoulder, applying a firm grip.

“Mr. Bardox, I don’t disagree with you, but respectfully…you’re new to The Absolute. Many of us have served together for years, since the end of the Clone Wars. We lost friends today – Comrades in arms,” said Kain, standing. He looked around the room. There were enlisted from throughout the ship, many just off their shifts, unkempt and filthy from repair work or maintenance. Bardox, Krix and Tallsun, their uniforms pressed and spotless, cut a sharp contrast to the rest of the beleaguered crew. Yet, Kain recognized that the three had contributed to the victory as much as anyone else. “Join us for a drink, if you will, in honor of them all.”

“Certainly,” said Bardox. He turned to Krix and Tallsun, motioning them to get a glass. Vardis stood and poured from the bottle at their table – A dry, distinct brew distilled from Meiloorun fruit.

Kain raised his glass, and addressed the room. “To all that give their lives every day to maintain peace throughout the galaxy – Friends old and new,” he nodded towards Bardox. “And to all who lost their lives – Our friends, and family of The Absolute. May they live forever in our memory.”

“For the Empire!” called out Tallsun. The room was silent. Kain looked down at Dolan to his right. Vardis still stood, her teeth grinding together, gripping the bottle. Kain looked over at Bardox, and the two men locked eyes. Kain saw something in the pilot that made him pause. The man was hiding something, as he stood tall and proud, the glass raised in toast.

“For the Empire,” said Kain solemnly. The room tipped back their glasses, and Kain tasted the bitter nectar move past his tongue, through his throat, adding fuel to the fire already burning in his chest.

***

Booker, clothed in his dress uniform, exited Cord’s room in the medical bay. The wounded marine was recently removed from his bacta immersion, and had been smiling when Booker came to call, which was unusual for the large soldier. The two had exchanged some pleasantries, talking about trivialities like the upcoming release of the T-14 and the quality of the nutrient-rich medical–bay rations, before Booker excused himself.

Before making his way back to his quarters in the barracks, Booker took the turbolift to the officer’s deck of The Absolute. The halls seemed deserted, the quiet after the storm. Two guards, in pristine white armor, stood at attention just outside the hall, their E-11 Blaster Rifles held across their chests. No one but an officer was allowed past without permission from an officer with rank. Booker approached them. “I’d like to speak with Lieutenant Bondi, please. I’m Booker. GK-4499”

“Just a moment,” said the Stormtrooper. He raised his hand to his helmet and turned aside slightly. Booker couldn’t hear what the trooper said, but knew he was checking in to Bondi directly through his room com-unit.  He didn’t know these men. Only the officers knew their names. Guards were purposefully kept apart from Star Destroyer crew, to maintain their detachment from personal influence as much as possible, and to keep them loyal to those they were protecting.

“Go ahead, GK-4499,” said the trooper, his voice slightly distorted through the helmet’s external speaker.

“Thanks,” said Booker, moving down the hall. He approached Bondi’s door, and knocked. An old habit – There was a ringer near the door that would have allowed him to more formally announce himself, but Booker had been raised in an old home in the countryside of Naboo, one that had eschewed technical upgrades for quaint tradition. The environment had stifled the tech-savvy Booker as a child – One of the many reasons he’d left home for the Imperial Academy as soon as it had been formed after the Clone Wars.

The door slid open, and Bondi was standing in front of him. The older man was dressed in black pants and ship-boots, with a grey tank-top over his muscular frame. Bondi’s left shoulder and arm, exposed to view, was wrinkled and pink with burn scarring all the way down past his elbow.  He looked disheveled, sweating, but strong. The man’s close-cropped black hair was peppered with grey, and his sunken cheeks were covered in similarly colored stubble. Grey eyes pierced Booker, and though Booker knew and trusted the Lieutenant, he couldn’t help but fear him as well.

“Evening, Booker,” said Bondi. “Just getting a workout in. What can I do for you?”

“Sir, sorry to bother you. I just got back from visiting Cord.”

“Good. How’s he doing? I’llll be heading down there myself shortly.”

“He’s well, sir. A little out of it from treatment, but that’s to be expected.”

“Right,” said Bondi. “But, you didn’t come here to tell me that, did you?” Bondi stepped back from the door. “Come in, and tell me what’s on your mind.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Booker. The younger soldier stepped past Bondi and into the well-lit room. It was small and sparse, but compared to the barracks, it was like a luxury suite. In one corner was a desk with a small rolling chair jammed under it and some pull-out drawers. The top of the desk was clear of any paperwork or decoration. When a button was pressed next to it, the bed folded down from the wall over the top of the surface. In the other corner, and filling most of the free space, was a small resistance bench and multi-purpose exercise rig, where perhaps an easy chair or bookshelf might be in anyone else’s room. Next to it, a large, well-worn heavy bag lay on its side, which could be hung from the pull-up bar. Booker knew there was a full-purpose gym for all the officers onboard The Absolute, but apparently Bondi didn’t like working out with anyone else.

Bondi motioned towards the desk chair. “Take a seat,” he said. Booker pulled the chair out and spun it around to face Bondi, who stood in front of the rig, his arms crossed. When Booker sat down, Bondi sat himself on the workout bench, arms still crossed. “Talk to me.”

“Well, sir, it’s the operation. This Dr. Renfro had his goons shuffle me out of that command room with a quickness as soon as they arrived. After shooting out Dr. Capra’s speaker. Capra was telling me…strange things, sir.”

“I read the report,” said Bondi plainly. He sat looking directly at Booker, his face blank. Booker wasn’t sure what to make of it, but continued.

“Renfro stayed behind with Capra, and on our way up to the surface, his Death Troopers…they demanded I relinquish all the data I’d collected from Anvil Station. Every bit of it. They stopped the elevator in mid ascent until I complied.”

“Indeed,” said Bondi. “And you complied.” It wasn’t a question.

Booker knew this was all in the report he’d made, so this wasn’t news to the Lieutenant. But he was thrown off by Bondi’s seeming lack of empathy. The man was stone cold when he wanted to be. Booker felt like he was being tested, even as he’d approached the Lieutenant in the first place. He paused, and considered his next words carefully.

“Dr. Capra…He knew they were coming. Said something about ‘the ones’ who sent us to find him.” Booker swallowed, and sat up straight, meeting Bondi’s gaze.

“You didn’t mention that in your report,” said Bondi flatly. His expression did not change.

“No,” said Booker, keeping his eyes up. “I didn’t.”

“You withheld information from an Imperial debrief,” continued Bondi. “That’s problematic.”

“Yes, sir,” said Booker. He started to feel uneasy. Bondi was a Lieutenant in the Imperial Marines. A veteran, committed to the Empire. This was a mistake, but Booker knew he couldn’t take it back.

“Why did you do that, GK-4499?” asked Bondi. Still, the lieutenant remained a rock, sitting across from the nervous marine under his command.

“I…I felt that the information was irrelevant at the time. In light of the rest of the actions we took, it didn’t change anything, and they have Dr. Capra now, so…” Booker trailed off. The two men sat in silence for a moment.

Bondi uncrossed his arms and placed them on his knees. He looked away from Booker and sighed. “You’re wondering, Booker, why you were treated like an enemy.”

“Yes. Yes sir,” said Booker. He felt his heart pounding in his chest, but Bondi’s relaxed tone set him a little more at ease. A little.

“Rest assured, you weren’t treated like an enemy. You were treated like a soldier of the Empire under the Emperor,” said Bondi. “That’s all. These Science Ministry people…they deal in some deep, dark secrets. Important secrets. Why do you think they’re accompanied by those bodyguards?”

Booker kept his mouth shut, but nodded slightly. Bondi reciprocated.

“It’s understandable to feel like that, soldier. But we made a vow when we joined the Imperial Marines – Empire united over all. ‘Over all’ includes your feelings of comfort when you don’t know the full scope of the Emperor’s plans. Do you understand?”

“I do, sir,” said Booker. He wasn’t lying. He did understand. His training was not inadequate in that regard. As a marine, he’d shown his loyalty to the Empire. A less dedicated man wouldn’t have graduated through the arduous labors that sharpened him into the soldier he’d become.

“I know you do,” said Bondi, rising from his seat. Booker followed suit.

“Thank you, sir,” said Booker.

“You’re a good soldier, and you did good work. Don’t forget that,” said Bondi as they moved towards the door. Booker stepped through and turned to face Bondi, saluting.

“Thank you sir,” Booker repeated. “I appreciate your time.”

“Of course. Now get some rest, and try to put this behind you. We’ll be at Santeeg soon, and be able to get some R and R, but you needn’t wait to take care of yourself while we’re underway. You never know what tomorrow brings,” said Bondi, returning the salute.

“Yes sir,” said Booker.

“Good night, soldier,” said Bondi, then pushed the button that slid the door closed quickly and silently. When their view of each other was broken, Bondi tilted his eyes to the floor and shook his head, exhaling with an almost inaudible moan. He rubbed the scarring on his arm and turned back to his workout rig. He hoisted the punching bag and hung it in place, then laid into it with all his weight.

Booker turned and walked out the hall, past the guards, and entered the turbolift. The doors closed, and he pressed the button which would take him to the barracks level. As the lift began to move, he put his hands in his pocket and gently gripped the palm-sized rectangular cassette hidden within – A copy of the data he’d collected from Anvil Station that he’d hidden from the Science Ministry enforcers. A copy he decided to keep hidden for now.