Commodore Aaron Rysell despised meetings like this.
The Imperial Admiralty was a body of men who were acutely, ruthlessly aware of their own political power, and they made absolutely sure that everyone else in the room felt it. Currently, Rysell and Chief Hannah Tyrren found themselves standing before the High Council of Admiralty on Coruscant. The chamber was filled with career admirals who had long since retired from active service on the front lines to secure comfortable political seats in the core. Overseeing this particular tribunal was Grand Admiral Felian Antilles, one of the few military minds who still commanded Rysell's genuine respect.
Despite Rysell being both the arresting officer and the chief investigator in this massive corruption case, his achievements meant practically nothing in this room. The gathered Admirals had absorbed his and Hannah's testimonies, notes, physical evidence, and encrypted records, only to immediately launch into a fierce debate among themselves. They argued openly, completely ignoring the fact that the two officers who had actually done the work were still standing right in front of them.
Before entering the chamber, Rysell had contacted his former superior officer, Fleet Admiral Corr Killian, asking for any practical advice on how to navigate the tribunal. Killian's response had been characteristically blunt and highly accurate: "Shut the fuck up."
In the Imperial Navy, you spoke only when directly addressed by a superior officer. Even then, you were expected to keep your answers as brief and non-committal as possible.
Throughout his rapid rise, Rysell had been incredibly fortunate. He had managed to avoid the worst of the Imperial "Old Guard"—those prideful, arrogant, by-the-book bureaucrats who now controlled the vast majority of the Empire's military resources. Up until now, Rysell had been protected first by Vice-Admiral Killian, then by Grand Admiral Antilles, and finally by the protective shadow of Imperial Intelligence. But here, standing in the heart of the military administration on Coruscant, he could no longer dodge them.
The retired admirals on the council cared absolutely nothing for Rysell's impressive combat record, his tactical brilliance, or the pirates he had cleared from the Outer Rim. To them, he was simply an upstart. Their only real priorities were protecting their own political standing and securing prestigious commissions for their sons, nephews, and family allies.
Seated at the side of the chamber was the Council of Admiralty's representative from the Department of Military Attorneys, a sharp-eyed legal officer who regularly leaned over to whisper to the council members, advising them on which charges they could officially bring forward and how to structure the prosecution.
Also present was the Director of Imperial Intelligence, Ysanne Isard. She sat completely still in the shadows, her famous mismatched red-and-blue eyes silently scanning the room, observing every movement and registering every word without uttering a sound.
As the initiators of the joint military-intelligence investigation, the Admiralty and Imperial Intelligence had to formally establish a list of charges against the corrupt sector Moff before the case could be escalated to the Grand Moff and the civilian courts. The military officers who had assisted the Moff, however, were a different story. They would be dealt with entirely in-house by a military court-martial. On that front, there was almost unanimous agreement: they would all face public execution.
The hearing had been dragging on for several exhausting hours. A stubborn, elderly admiral who had served back in the days of the Galactic Republic was currently the loudest voice advocating for a lighter sentence. He repeatedly suggested that the conspirators should be spared the death penalty, proposing life imprisonment or hard labor in an Imperial work camp instead. The other council members barely even pretended to listen to him.
While the fate of the junior military officers had been decided within minutes, the corrupt Moff's sentence had triggered a massive political wall. Personal favors, bribes, and political alliances ran incredibly deep among the military brass, and it was blindingly obvious that several of the councilors had been bought off by the Moff's family allies years ago.
"Conspiracy to destabilize the Empire is a step too far, is it not?" Admiral Rhagen, a stout, heavily decorated officer, spoke up, his voice echoing off the high stone walls. "The Moff's intentions were clear. He merely sought to fortify his frontier sector in light of the massive spike in Rebel activity. His goal was noble, but he was unfortunately led astray by his civilian advisors."
Rhagen's absurd defense was immediately met with a series of quiet, supportive nods from three of his closest allies on the council. Even the old Republic admiral seemed somewhat intrigued by the excuse.
The remaining seven admirals, however, were absolutely furious.
"Are you completely daft, Rhagen?" another admiral barked, slamming his hand down on the polished wood table. "Or did you receive a personal blowjob from the Moff yourself? We are all well aware of your problems at home, but this level of shameless bootlicking is pathetic, even for you!"
Within seconds, the dignified council chamber devolved into a chaotic shouting match, with retired flag officers red-faced and yelling insults across the table.
"Enough!" Antilles roared.
The Grand Admiral's booming voice instantly silenced the room. He rubbed his temples, visibly exhausted by the petty politics of his colleagues.
"This has gone on long enough," Antilles said, his sharp eyes locking onto the bickering officers. "We will resolve this immediately by a show of hands for each charge against Moff Cassian Thrunn. Is that understood?"
The admirals grumbled in unison, reluctantly settling back into their seats as Antilles picked up his datapad to read off the official indictment.
"Charge one: High Treason?"
Eight hands rose into the air.
"Charge two: Defrauding of Imperial Resources?"
Seven hands.
"Charge three: Felony Negligence?"
Every single hand in the room went up.
"Charge four: Conspiracy to Destabilize the Empire?"
Seven hands.
"Charge five: Subversion of Imperial Forces?"
Twelve hands. A unanimous vote.
"Charge six: Misappropriation of Military Assets?"
Eight hands.
"Charge seven: Grand Embezzlement of Imperial Revenue?"
Six hands rose. Antilles frowned, immediately utilizing his executive authority. "I am exercising my veto to override the minority. Mark it as seven hands. The charge stands." He cleared his throat. "Finally, charge eight: Falsification of Sector Ledgers?"
Twelve hands went up instantly. The physical evidence Hannah's agents had uncovered on that front was completely undeniable.
"Very well," Antilles concluded, tapping a button to lock in the votes. "The Department of Military Representation will prepare the formal prosecution case. This tribunal is adjourned. All of you are dismissed—with the exception of Commodore Rysell. Please remain behind."
The room slowly cleared as the retired admirals, the legal representatives, and the silent Intelligence personnel filed out through the main blast doors. Rysell remained standing at the far end of the long briefing table, his posture perfectly straight. Once the heavy doors finally hissed shut, sealing the room, Grand Admiral Antilles leaned back in his chair and looked up.
"You have come quite a long way, Lieutenant Commander," Antilles said, a warm, genuine smile breaking through his stern demeanor.
A rare smile touched Rysell's lips as well. It had been years since anyone had referred to him by his old rank of Lieutenant Commander, and there were times when he genuinely missed the absolute simplicity of those early days of his career.
"Thank you, Grand Admiral," Rysell replied respectfully. "Though I must give you the credit for my advancement. You provided the exact opportunities I needed to prove myself. My success is as much your doing as it is mine."
Antilles chuckled softly, waving off the compliment. "That is precisely what I have always respected about you, Rysell. You are incredibly effective, you are always willing to share the credit with your people, and you completely lack the insufferable arrogance that ruins so many of our fellow Imperial officers. Keep those values close. They will serve you incredibly well in the trials ahead."
"Thank you, sir," Rysell said.
Antilles gestured toward an empty chair. "Sit, Commodore."
Rysell took a seat as the Grand Admiral continued. "Your career has officially reached the next stage, and it is about time. You've likely noticed the growing tension throughout the command structure. I do not know the exact details of what is coming, but I have a strong feeling about what it is. Regardless, Imperial High Command has officially assigned a new fleet under your personal command."
Antilles slid a secure datapad across the table. "The 32nd Squadron has been reorganized and expanded into the Crimson Crest Command. You have been assigned the Allegiance-class battlecruiser Sovereign as your flagship, supported by six- including the Leviathan Imperial-II Star Destroyers, three Secutor-II battlecarriers, and three Interdictor-class Star Destroyers."
Rysell picked up the datapad, his eyes rapidly scanning the transfer details. The ships themselves were magnificent, freshly completed vessels coming straight out of the orbital shipyards at Kuat. The personnel roster, however, was a completely different story. While a handful of his veteran captains and commanders had been successfully transferred, the vast majority of the crew slots were filled with raw, inexperienced graduates fresh out of the academies, or officers who had only recently been promoted.
Furthermore, the fleet's composition was highly unusual. It contained almost no auxiliary warships to provide anti-fighter screening or close-range cruiser support. Even though the Secutor-II carriers had been slightly redesigned to reduce their massive power drain and improve their anti-fighter defenses, the fleet as a whole was incredibly top-heavy.
"I am deeply honored by this command, Grand Admiral, but—"
"I know, Rysell," Antilles interrupted, holding up a hand. "You don't have to say it. On paper, this looks like an incredibly generous, powerful fleet assignment. In reality, it is a deliberate act of administrative sabotage. It is a subtle, bureaucratic attempt to slow you down, but it is sabotage nonetheless. Your rapid rise through the ranks has created a great deal of jealousy among the high command. They aren't bold enough to outright ruin your career, but they are clearly trying to disrupt your established tactical playbook."
Rysell let out a quiet sigh. He had realized something was wrong the moment he saw the capital-ship-heavy roster. Throughout his career, Rysell had repeatedly proven his brilliance by utilizing fast, agile, light warships to outmaneuver his opponents and completely change the course of a battle. This new, lumbering fleet of massive Star Destroyers directly hindered those tactics.
In short, his enemies had stripped away his anti-rebel specialty. He no longer possessed the speed, the starfighter advantage, or the close-range cruiser-fighting capabilities that had made him so lethal. Had this happened three years ago, it would have completely crippled his tactical growth.
But the nature of galactic warfare was changing rapidly. Rysell knew that after the impending conflict at Endor, the Empire's centralized command would likely shatter. The Rebels would begin capturing Imperial Star Destroyers and building heavy capital ships of their own, evening the playing field.
Because of that, this heavy capital ship fleet actually suited his long-term survival plans perfectly. It was a well-thought-out attempt at sabotage, but the timing was incredibly poor. Once again, fortune had favored him.
"I have already taken steps to correct this imbalance," Antilles said, a knowing look in his eye. "I contacted a few of my close allies in the naval bureaucracy. In addition to your primary capital fleet, you will be receiving a massive supplementary force."
The Grand Admiral tapped his terminal, transferring a new set of data files directly to Rysell's datapad.
============================================================ CRIMSON CREST SUPPLEMENTARY SHIPS ============================================================ * Vindicator-class Heavy Cruisers - 8 Ships, Lancer-class Light Frigates - 14 Ships, Raider-II-class Corvettes - 12 Ships, Carrack-class Light Cruisers - 18 Ships,Ton-Falk-class Escort Carriers - 3 Ships, Broadside-class Cruiser-Kettles - 4 Ships, Interdictor-class Heavy Cruisers - 2 Ships
============================================================
"You are being assigned eight Vindicator-class heavy cruisers," Antilles read off. "To replace the two Lancer frigates you lost in your last campaign, I am giving you fourteen new Lancer-class light frigates to serve as your dedicated anti-fighter screen. You will also receive twelve Raider-II-class corvettes, eighteen Carrack-class light cruisers, three Ton-Falk escort carriers, four Broadside-class missile cruisers, and finally, a pair of heavy Interdictor cruisers. Your old Immobilizercruiser is being officially retired from active service and reassigned to a quiet Outer Rim patrol sector, but its veteran crew will remain under your command."
Antilles leaned forward. "They are already en route to the Gerrenthum system, where your next deployment is. The full operational details have been transferred to your secure database."
Rysell's eyes narrowed slightly as he looked at the screen. This wasn't just a simple correction—this was an incredibly powerful, perfectly balanced fleet. It was far too generous, even for a Grand Admiral helping a favored subordinate.
Antilles noticed the suspicious look on Rysell's face and let out a hearty laugh.
"I suppose I can't keep any secrets from you, Aaron," the Grand Admiral said, his tone softening into something far more personal. "The truth is, I am officially retiring from the Imperial Navy. I can no longer bring myself to support what this Empire is turning into. The High Command's complete obsession with terror doctrines and planet-killing superweapons is something I refuse to be a part of any longer. This fleet transfer is my very last official act—and my final favor to you. I only hope that you can manage to guide this galaxy toward a better future, where I have failed."
Rysell's eyes widened in genuine shock. At the same time, deep down, he had known this day was coming. Antilles had never hidden his deep disgust for the destruction of Alderaan by the first Death Star. Rysell had read the classified intelligence reports; the Grand Admiral had been quietly funneling his entire military paycheck into relief funds to support the surviving Alderaanian refugees scattered across the galaxy. Now that the Empire was building a second terror weapon, Antilles had finally decided to step away before the galaxy burned.
Rysell stood up slowly, bringing his heels together, and offered the departing Grand Admiral the most crisp, respectful salute of his career.
"The Empire has been incredibly fortunate to have your leadership, sir," Rysell said, his voice steady and sincere. "And the surviving people of Alderaan owe you a debt that can never be fully repaid. If there is ever anything I can do to protect or support your people in the times ahead, you need only ask."
Antilles looked up, visibly moved by the Commodore's words. He had expected a standard, formal farewell, but Rysell's personal promise of aid to the Alderaanian survivors caught him completely off guard.
Before the Grand Admiral could reply, Rysell turned and marched confidently out of the chamber, his boots clicking sharply against the polished floor. While they had never been close personal friends, Rysell knew that loyalty was the most valuable currency in a fracturing galaxy—and he fully intended to repay the immense generosity Felian Antilles had shown him.
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