Episode II - Full Stop - Part 9

Booker found a direct interface on the side of the main computer console, and pulled out his extensible connection cable. It was a clumsy maneuver, as the interface panel was set low, below the keyboards and displays, so that mid-size astro-mech droids could connect more easily. Once connected, Booker stood and interacted with a key set on his wrist gauntlet. A small display inside his helmet showed exactly what he was perusing.

“Soldier?” It was Capra’s surrogate voice, coming through the speakers behind him.

Booker spun to look. The sound was startling in the new silence, the pulse of the energy transmitter no longer filling the room. The bacta tank remained, and Capra still floated, motionless. But something was different. Booker couldn’t move closer to see, but Capra’s eyes were focused, looking straight at the Imperial Marine.

“Can you hear me, soldier?” came the voice again.

“I can, Dr. Capra,” said Booker.

“Was it you who disconnected me from the Anvil?” While the timbre was the same, the voice somehow seemed clearer. Less distracted.

“It was,” said Booker. He continued to work on gathering all the data he could, but was prepared for another attack.

“Thank you,” said Capra. He said nothing more for a few moments, and neither did Booker, until Capra broke the silence again. “Soldier, I wonder if you would do me one more favor.”

Booker looked at Capra tentatively. He debated for a moment on whether to answer at all, but Capra didn’t give him the chance.

“I know that you are collecting my work even now. And I know that you are doing your duty. I know more than that. The memories are fading even now, probably a defense mechanism of a being living in time. But what remains is terrible, and I would desire to not see the visions come to fruition.”

“Come to fruition?” asked Booker. “Your memories of what has already happened?”

“No, my memory of what will happen,” said Capra. “Connected, as I was, to hyperspace, I heard echoes of transmissions from throughout the galaxy, since hyperspace began, and through to the last transmission. The properties of hyperspace, the speed – time is bent, and since a transmission is never truly taken out of the space it is transmitted through, they never leave hyperspace – and thus, have always been in hyperspace! It was overwhelming! But all I had was my mind, and time to process. It took me what must have been years to sort through the data, to see the idiosyncrasies in the echoes, and realize from where and when they were coming to me.”

“So, what, you’re saying you know the future?”

“I heard the echoes – the transmissions back and forth after the facts! Worlds destroyed! Empires and rebellions! And the talk – The mourning, the proselytizing, the rhetoric! Justifications and condemnations! Attempts at explanation, rebuttals, and opinions mixed with cold analysis, moving back and forth through hyperspace, beyond time. It’s too much! Too much for any one man! And I couldn’t turn it off. I could never turn it off…”

“I’m sorry you were forced into this,” said Booker. “Dooku was an evil plague on the galaxy…”

“Dooku was a liberator!” said Capra. “Or so I believed. He knew the corruption of the Jedi and the Republic first hand. He promised to set us free of their tyranny, so I offered myself for that cause. Whatever the cost. But I had no idea…”

“That you would end up like this?”

“Oh, this state was inevitable. My body was failing long before I allowed myself to be put in here. I saw this as a boon – To be able to continue my work, despite my body. No, I never anticipated the side effects – All I would know – The flood of information. It was so much, I couldn’t work the way I intended. I couldn’t develop the technology the way I’d hoped. And before Renfro and I could fix it, the war ended. Renfro never came back after leaving with Dooku, and Dooku was killed, taking the secret of this installation with him…”

“So, what is this favor you want,” asked Booker. His readout showed that all the data had been backed up to his gauntlet, so he unplugged from the terminal and walked over to Capra’s tank, rifle at the ready.

“I want you to end me now, before they get here. I’m dead anyway, if left alone. I just want it to be quicker.”

“Before who gets here?” asked Booker.

“Your superiors. The ones who sent you to find me. I have seen the true face of those who rule the galaxy now, and I want no part in their dominion.”

“That’s not my call to make,” said Booker plainly.

“That’s the problem, isn’t it? What I was willing to fight for…Freedom to choose, apart from the rulers who met in committee while people suffered and died against their will. We Separatists only wanted the freedom to rule ourselves. But it was a false hope. You don’t even know what your Emperor truly is…”

A blaster shot rang out, slamming into the speaker broadcasting Capra’s voice, cutting him off with a small explosion.

“That’s quite enough of that,” said a man dressed in a white cloak over a white uniform shirt and black pants tucked into black boots. “Please step back from the tank, Mr. Booker, by order of Governor Tarkin.” The small man was flanked by two imposing troopers, clad head to toe in black armor, holding blaster rifles in ready position.

“And who are you?” asked Booker, standing his ground.

“I am Dr. Renfro, of the Imperial Science Ministry. Dr. Capra and I have much to catch up on.”

***

“We are being hailed, Captain Sarcune,” said The Absolute’s communications officer. “It’s Governor Tarkin.”

Sarcune glared out of the viewport from the bridge. Behind him, his crew was scrambling to deal with the multiple damage reports coming in from throughout the large ship. Sarcune could see the devastation across the bow, where the now-fallen droid command ship and her fleet of Vultures had laid into the Victory Class Star Destroyer. Above the site of the battle, Tarkin’s Imperial-Class Star Destroyer, The Sovereign, floated unscathed, having only moments before appeared out of hyperspace. Sarcune did not discount the timing – Within minutes of the droid command ship which had so dogged The Absolute being put down, Tarkin had arrived, as if he’d been waiting and watching all along. Kain and his pilots continued to mop up the now-still Vulture droids, and as he looked, a small shuttle left the landing bay of the Sovereign, heading down to the planetoid’s surface.

“Put him through to my chambers,” said Sarcune, turning on his heel and striding off the bridge proper. His first-mate looked up, and Sarcune held out a hand. “You have the con – Make sure The Absolute is secured.”

The auto-door slid closed behind him. For a moment, Sarcune stood alone in the darkened room. He drew a deep breath, then depressed the button on the holo-com. The translucent blue giant once again loomed over Sarcune, looking down on him with piercing eyes set deep within gaunt features.

“Ah, Captain Sarcune,” said Tarkin, with characteristic coldness. “It looks like your mission was a success, if somewhat…messy.”

“I lost a lot of good men today,” said Sarcune, trying to keep his voice even. “The level of resistance we faced was formidable, to say the least…”

“Did you use the new TIE fighters you were assigned?” asked Tarkin plainly.

“We did, but…”

“But you still lost pilots? And how many TIE fighters did you lose?”

“I’m…not sure, Governor.”

“I believe you lost none, Captain Sarcune. And rightfully so, per plan.”

“What plan?” asked Sarcune, seething.

“The plan to recover Anvil station for the Empire,” said Tarkin. “The plan I made with Dr. Renfro and the Emperor. The plan which you completed. Well done.”

“Tarkin!” shouted Sarcune. “I was on a rescue mission! And by my reckoning, we lost more men than we saved! If I had known…”

“If you had known what?” interrupted Tarkin. “If you had known that Anvil station was active, and possibly waiting for you? You did, in a sense. You recognized the trap, and I acknowledged it. If you had known that the TIE fighters were sent at just the right time as to be a help on this mission? You knew that The Empire has designated the new fighter craft as the representative of our superiority, yet you chose to allow your men to fly their antiquated relics for reasons I do not understand. Yet it is your ship, for now, and your consequences to deal with.”

“You knew the TIEs would not be seen by the droid’s sensors?” asked Sarcune, remembering Kain’s observations.

“I suspected,” said Tarkin. “The droids were operating on old battle data for one, and the TIE was built to confuse tracking. They may have adapted sooner, but fortunately for you…”

“But that still doesn’t explain why you didn’t tell me our mission objective! This was never a rescue mission, was it?”

“Watch your tone with me, Captain,” scolded Tarkin. “I do not answer to you, and it is only because of your exemplary service that I have told you this much. Or, perhaps you require an audience with the Emperor? Do you want to express your grievances with him personally? I could arrange that meeting.”

Sarcune looked away from the hologram. And he hated himself for it. The thinly veiled threat had got to him, testing his resolve, and he’d flinched. He turned back to face Tarkin’s towering image. “No, Governor Tarkin. That won’t be necessary.”

Tarkin stood silent for a moment, seeming to relish his victory of will. Sarcune saw it as only a victory of attrition. Tarkin had resorted to a threat. Credible or not, Captain Sarcune recognized that he’d backed the proud governor into a corner, and made a mental note. Tarkin wasn’t invulnerable, it seemed.

“Very good, Captain,” spoke Tarkin. “Continue with your damage controls. I have sent a detachment to secure Anvil Station, as it is called, and will return your men shortly. I will also retrieve the survivors of the Bold Born and return them to Coruscant. As well, I will send over a portion of my engineering crew to help you with repairs.”

“That won’t be necessary, Governor Tarkin. My men are more than capable…”

“I insist,” interrupted Tarkin. “We will make sure you are able to make it to the Santeeg Shipyard for full maintenance and outfitting. That includes a full replacement of your outdated fleet of fighter-craft.”

“Thank you, governor,” said Sarcune, as politely as he was able to muster. He resisted the urge to pull on his beard as he spoke.

“Very good, Captain Sarcune. Carry on.” The hologram disappeared as Tarkin shut off the feed. Sarcune stood again in silence. He drew a deep breath, shaking his head slightly, then threw back his shoulders and walked back to his bridge. There was work to be done.