Author - drank an energy drink why does my right side of chest hurt instead of idk my heart? My lung drinking monster or something what is this? I hope you enjoy this chapter
Patreaon /// Deluxee - 5 chapters ahead and new HP chapter 1 is up
****
We embarked under a sky still crowded with Thrawn's fleet, and for the first hours the departure felt less like a campaign and more like us being a small drop in an ocean.
The docks at Havenridge were loud with final loading: sealed crates, screened crews, ammunition manifests, medical pallets, and the rough voices of officers putting their men in order.
I walked the embarkation lines with Torv and Harlan before boarding, not because the lists were incomplete, but because people fought harder when they had seen their leader count them out by eye and call them out by name.
It is a selective and voluntary expedition, not a full blown offensive it still looked like a great deal of Elyria was pulling itself into the void though.
Reza met me at the transfer spine to Iron Reaver who was prioritised for repair, it still was not up to top quality but it is enough for now. "Fleet insertion is confirmed, awaiting orders from the Chimera."
"Good, I can't wait to see the fat bastard eye to eye finally." I say with a slight smile.
Orlen boarded the same day on a secondary command shuttle, he is not as watched as he was before. He has proven himself and is starting to be integrated into the Elyrian lifestyle. Even petitioning for his kids to start going to school here and if he could get a house built on the quiet outskirts. Of course his wife already threw enough cash at me where I didn't see the problem of them settling down, though I did refuse her when she asked if they could buy out a small country sized territory for them.
He took to his new role well enough: useful, informed, eager to prove himself. Every time he passed Torv, the air tightened by a degree though but every time he passed me, he inclined his head.
Not too long after we got confirmation for our immediate departure and the length of time of the journey which was thirteen days to Vordax Prime from Elyria.
The first day was all systems and hierarchy and checking over supplies, Thrawn's formation swallowed local space in layered motion, our ships dutifully. From the bridge I watched Elyria fall away behind us until it was only a spec and a note in the sensors.
By the second day the journey settled into routine.
Morning briefings.
Route status.
Drill blocks.
Screening checks.
Inventory reconciliation.
Evening political summaries from Harlan on which Vordax offices were already sending surrender inquiries and which were still quiet.
Karlach ran boarding simulations, the clone captains in particular Ridge turned to going over potential scenarios ranging from no resistance to grand admiral somehow being part of this conspiracy which was honestly kind of funny.
The others like Jaster, Atii and Torv spent hours with warriors and soldiers on close-route assault patterns, then Jaster and Torv appeared in the officers' mess flushed with a kind of happiness that combat promise always seemed to give them.
Orlen meanwhile was going over his little diary on who to point fingers to as collaborators of Dernis, either most of his family are bastards or as a kid he was very unlikable since that list is pretty extenssive. He was marking which cousins would fight, which would fold and bargain, and which would disappear.
And again, more reward talk that spread even to the lowest private Reward talk moved through the decks like warm air.
I let some most of it slide, men fought harder and had better morale along with whining less when they believed the aftermath would grant them rewards, whether their fantasy of getting a star destroyer and personal medal from the emperor for singlehandedly winning a battle against all odds would become real is not up to me, let a man dream.
Atii trained with me on the fourth morning in a stripped cargo bay that still smelled faintly of sealed grain. The session was a bit rough and a bit mechanical as if she had something on her mind, that worried me more than the current beating I am getting from her.
"You're pulling your strikes," she said after a exchange that left my wrist stinging.
"You are not"
"I'm measuring," she answered.
"Measuring what?"
She reset her stance and came in again with a frown, forcing me to give ground across the deck markings. "Whether you're still someone worth bruising."
I had question marks on my face as we we finished without resolving it. She left for Mandalorian drills and I went back to going over the sent over paperwork.
On the sixth day Thrawn called a subordinate commanders' review, he wanted insertion estimates, surface contingency outlines, and a clean account of what my forces could actually achieve. I answered the best I could but eventually I delegated the whole thing to Reza and Torv with some contribution from Orlen who gave an accurate account of the defences and about what they should expect.
On the thirteenth day we were on the final stretch till we reach our destination.
I stood on Iron Reaver's bridge with the others.
"Signal from Chimaera," communications said. "All Elyrian ships are ready for reversion into real space and ready to move into the assigned coordinates."
****
Vordax Prime filled the forward projections, it is a highly urbanised and industrialised world with a singular red brown moon, in the system there are only a few unhabitable planets and asteroids but some of the moons are hospitable and have decent populations.
The system traffic was instantly paralyzed by the time the fleet reverted into real space, civilian haulers drifted onto ordered holding vectors once the fleet started giving out orders while a station control stuttered through authentication requests.
A few private security ships powered down so quickly it looked more like pure panic than compliance with the orders from the admiral. From Iron Reaver's bridge I could see the sector capital world as a hard, pale sphere wrapped in orbital infrastructure: defense platforms, customs rings, dock clusters, and the denser metallic glitter of naval anchorage above the administrative hemisphere.
It was then my old pal Drell came through.
His channel opened on all frequencies, probably in a bit of a panic. It came with the brittle formality of a man who had spent days trying to draft or think of a way that could save him or put him in a good light. He looked older than last time I have seen him, face drawn tight, uniform immaculate to the point where it is suspicious if he has been expecting us. Behind him, residual sector command staff stood there a bit paralysed and nervous.
"Grand Admiral Thrawn," Drell said, and then almost as an afterthough, "Governor Voss. Sector forces under my authority will stand down. We acknowledge central declaration and Navy High Command jurisdiction. I am prepared to transfer all command codes, anchorage control, and remaining loyal inventories without resistance."
Thrawn's image, shared across the command net from Chimaera, did not bother with relief or gratitude. "Then do so. Any unit refusing to do is no longer sector forces. It is a traitor and a rebel."
Drell swallowed and nodded. For a moment it seemed the whole system might fold in that single act of institutional surrender.
Then the loyalist ships made themselves visible, a breakaway cluster near the outer anchorage refused the stand-down codes and pushed into a defensive crescent, transponders still marked under Jerjerrod-house allegiance and "emergency sector protection" authentication. Sensor boards painted them in hard red.
They had around three old Victory-class hulls among them some heavy cruisers along with supporting frigates and escorts, roughly thirty ships.
Thrawn's order came with no rise in volume.
"All batteries."
One moment the loyalist crescent was still trying to finish alignment, shields rising in staggered intervals, gun ports opening late, the next "Open fire on the rebel elements in the sector."
And the fleet answered at once. Imperial-class broadsides lit the void in coordinated salvos. Turbolaser fire crossed the void in orderly lanes and in continuous, punishing strike. The first Victory-class took concentrated strikes along the bow and dorsal line and simply came apart, armour peeling into molten scrap before its return batteries managed more than a scattered, useless answer. A heavy cruiser to its port tried to push up and out of the kill lane; Interdictor presence and overlapping fire made escape a fantasy. Its shields collapsed in a white shudder, and the follow-on volleys bored through the midsection until the ship folded on itself in a slow, hideous bloom.
Five minutes was all it took. Five minutes and thirty ships and tens of thousands of people gone, in a blink of an eye.
I watched a frigate vanish under fire from five different star destroyers and leave not even a scrap for the scrapyard while another cruiser, older than my parents' war stories, which looked to be held by duck tape and prayers held not even for a minute under the concentration of seven star destroyers. Escort ships died faster, some while still attempting to flee while others sending desperate messages of surrender that were ignored, one Victory-class managed to turn far enough to present a narrower profile and bought itself perhaps twenty additional seconds of recognizable shape. Then Chimaera's line and ten other supporting Destroyers erased even that.
There was no bargaining and no prisoners taken, just overwhelming force.
By the time the order to cease fire came down, that particular region was filled with drifting field of debris, some surviving escape pods, and broken hulls tumbling through the void. Thirty ships, some of them star destroyers gone before they could even return fire. The sensor board reclassified them from hostile contacts to navigation hazards with a kind of bureaucratic calm that felt absolutelt fucking obscene next to what my eyes had just witnessed.
On Iron Reaver, no one cheered. Most are rooted to the spot at witnessing the might of the empire first hand.
Karlach muttered a low curse that might have been respect, while one native militia officer looked sick and horrified. Orlen's hands were locked to the rail hard enough to pale the knuckles, face unreadable under the bridge lights whether he was mourning men, measuring his own near-miss with history, or simply absorbing how complete Thrawn's intolerance for insubordination and rebels was, I could not tell.
Meanwhile Reza... was smiling? What the hell is that for.
Drell's channel had remained open through it all and he had watched his former colleagues and subordinates die like dogs, when Thrawn spoke again, Drell flinched as if the next salvo might be aimed at him and his significantly reduced ship count. You should have reigned in Jerjerrod harder and then you'd have more ship then.
"Local space is secured," Thrawn said. "Begin planetary approach any further armed refusal is to be treated identically, any high value prisoners are to be secured and send to the Chimera. If the foot soldiers refuse to stand down execute them on site for rebelling against the Empire."
Reza looked to me.
I nodded to him, mouth dry. "You heard the Grand Admiral, no prisoners."
The fleet began to move in toward Vordax Prime, civilian ships moving out of the way.
Through the main viewport the planet grew larger, cleaner, almost serene.
****
The days after Darnis's death were quieter than the battle and uglier than the reports admitted.
Vordax Prime submitted in stages: first the orbital control spines, then the civil broadcast network, then the palace districts, then the scattered garrison towns. By the second morning the system was functionally held and by the third, the occupation had firmly set in.
Thrawn's officers counted weapons, sealed archives, and reordered command charts with the same patience they used on star maps. Elyrian contingents were given lanes of responsibility and watched just as closely as the local units they were helping disarm.
Darnis remained officially closed as a suicide.
I had seen the bunker after it was forced: desk scarred by empty bottles, air thick with spilled liquor and overused recyclers, the body slumped forward with a blaster still near one hand and a burnt cavity at his temple.
He left behind no notes or manifesto not even a final drunken holo recording decrying it all unjust and not fair. Just a fat corpse that used to house a soul of a vile bastard. He was driven to the brink in a sealed room while his sector came apart over his head and he took the easy way out. Thrawn treated it as nothing more than an inconvenience. The traitor was dead, that was that and the subsequent report that went up to the Emperor and Naval High Command showed it so. The rest was just a process.
And a process on occupied Vordax, included punishments that did not need blasters.
Drell received his in a side chamber of the old sector naval office. Thrawn did not raise his voice, didn't really need to Dishonorable discharge, failure of oversight and failure to restrain unlawful campaign activity under his broader sector responsibility. Failure to act when action might still have reduced the damage.
Drell looked less like an admiral losing a post and more like a man hearing that the structure of his remaining life had been deleted with dishonourable discharge there will be no state pension and no honour retirement, his job prospects are shattered even if he started searching now. Hopefully he saved up some of his money because there will be no source of income for him anymore.
His mouth opened once, closed, then opened again around a protest that never materialised. By the time he was escorted out, something behind his eyes had already died.
"He looks broken," Harlan murmured beside me.
"Good riddance, if he grabbed Darnis by the balls non of this would have happened" Torv grunted from the other side.
After all of that sanctioned recovery teams moved through the palace and the properties of Darnis's closest allies under Navy authority and local emergency writs. The line between evidence seizure and loot was thin enough.
Crates of rare wines, private arms collections that made Torv almost cry along with jewelry vaults and credit chips in false wall panels most will sadly have to be forewarded up but still the men kept portions of them for themselves.
There was also art that had never been catalogued for tax with one storage wing that held sealed cases of mid-rim property deeds and gift-bribes so obvious they were almost insulting. My people took what the process assigned them and I made sure the worst of the scavenging stayed under wraps for propriety sake, but I did not pretend the expedition had come only for justice. Men who had bled under AT-ATs and boarded dying ships wanted more than just a paycheck and a bonus for not dying they wanted some good ol' war booty.
Orlen also made himself useful, he was almost giddy about the chance to do so.
In interview rooms and under gallery lights he identified cousins, retainers, and house clients as "treasonous elements." Some were, enough real coordination records existed to keep his claims from looking invented on contact. Others, as Reza noted privately after the second day, seemed guilty mainly of having belittled Orlen for years, blocked him from commands, or treated him as a servant of the family.
I let him run free that is until he started inventing bullshit reasons without any basis, then I cut two names from a detention list myself when the supporting files and warned him not to over do it.
He glared at me at first and did not thank me for restraining him before Thrawn decides to make an example out of him, though he did not stop smiling when a particularly hated uncle was marched past him in binders.
On the fourth day Thrawn assembled the senior occupation officers and local civilian administration in the palace's lesser audience hall.
High Command and Imperial Palace authority wished to review the most powerful and influential figures connected to the system and former sector order. The purpose was practical: determine who, if anyone, was fit to stabilize governance after Darnis. Attendance would be required. Representations would be heard and recommendations would be formed.
The effect on my expedition was immediate and poorly hidden.
Jaster's head lifted as if someone had struck a tuning fork against his armor and Karlach along with Torv exhaled a short laughs. Varn on the other hand just inclined his head. Orlen went very still in recalculating every remaining ambition he had and was no doubt thinking he could even run for office, yeah good luck.
Even Harlan, looked briefly like someone had opened a window onto a larger future.
Moff.
The word did not have to be spoken to fill the hall.
Over the next few days people arrived in streams: old allies from the anti-Jerjerrod coalition who congratulated me on my victory and swapped stories of how they themselves survived, neutrals who had discovered courage after the heat died down, then there were the turncloaks, merchant princes, city prefects, minor governors, house cadets, and administrative survivors. I met most of the ones that mattered Reza as my official naval admiral, Harlan as my mojodormo, Torv as the military liaison, and Orlen as a link between me and star wars equivilent of intergalactic nobility and old blood.
Some came to pledge others came to bargain and iron out details for support for me or support for them against heir enemies. While others came to take measure of me and mine and I am pretty sure some of them or their attendants were spies that will forward that information to their masters. They wanted to know what my chances were of being elevated to the status of a moff and if I could be of use to them or just an upstart that had gotten lucky because Thrawn chose my system to first regroup in.
I shook hands with a calm smile that did not quite reach my eyes as I listened to their pleads, arrogant and cocksure lines and sleezy offered deals.
I filed every flattery and every conditional offer away for later while at night, in my temporary that I chose specifically for its absurd luxury and had a face splitting grin while imagining what more I could get.
WHAT MORE I DESERVED TO GET.
Meanwhile in the past few days Atii watched me more from a distance than she spoke, even when its just the two of us she did not take her helmet off and did not start a conversation but its fine, she is probably thinking of something and it gives me more time to deal with my new potential subjects.
Servants.
By the end of those days the planet was secure, the worst loyalist strongholds were broken and waited in prison cells, some already hung from the rafters as an example.
Drell had vanished into private disgrace, taking his personal ship off somewhere where people dont point and laugh at him for his failures, and the palace had become a marketplace of future allegiance and filled with backdoor deals between allies new and old and threats exchanged between enemies.
Thrawn remained the decisive centre of gravity though. Around him, every ambitious survivor in the former sector began orbiting the question of succession like bugs around a light.
And I, found that the idea of sitting where Darnis had sat no longer felt completely foreign.
****
Atii came in without knocking somewhere around midnight.
I was on the edge of my bed with my boots still on, shirt half way open, a half-read list of succession attendees glowing on the side table. The room had belonged to some house functionary before the occupation reassigned it: too much dark wood, soft carpet that swallowed the noise footsteps made, an a huge window looking down over Vordax, one bad and disturbing thing about this room is that it smelled faintly of old polish and generous amount of bleach, Torren Vhett who came with us already making jokes that this room is hunted and that someone died in it and they got rid of the evidence, and with a galaxy that has confirmed ghosts I do not like that notion one bit, but anyways.
Atii closed the door and walked straight to the bed, and sat beside me hard enough to make the frame shift. For a moment she said nothing, head down and helmet finally off her face, her hair had a messy half undone braid down to her mid back. She looked tired in a way combat or training never seemed to make her.
"If they offer it to you," she said, "you're going to want it."
I stared at the far wall and frown. "That depends on what they offer."
"Don't." The word was quiet and sharp. "I've watched you since Elyria. How you interacted with Thrawn, I heard the various rumorus, and the way our officers said 'Moff' with their eyes alight with hunger, they have changed. You have changed."
"Everyone changes under pressure."
"Not like this." She turned toward me fully. "You are changing in the wrong way where as before you would scoff and refuse using people like expendable pieces. You now trade people like markers, when was the last time you genuinely smiled, you smile for rooms filled with people that few months ago would have made you sick and recoil if not in public then in private. You talk about loyalty while counting what loyalty can buy. That is what they all do, Darnis did it, all the other Moffs do it and now you do."
Heat rose behind my eyes. "I am nothing like Darnis." I regret how scathing and angry the sound that came out of me sounded even to my own ears.
"Not yet."
This was probably our first argument and while it was not a shouting match I admit I raised my voice to levels that should not have.
I told her with pride that I had kept Elyria alive when larger and more experienced offices left it to rot. I told her ambition was not a crime when the alternative was being hunted through someone else's convenience. I told her peace without power was just a pause before the next official decided my people were expendable that the more power I, no we have the safer we become even if some sacrifices are to be made.
The look she gave me the more I spoke spoke of sadness and tiredness that spoke volumes, volumes I refused to hear. With each word spoken her eyes dimmed and her head hanged lower, when I finally stopped talking an uncomfortable silence fell on us. She was still seated while I at some point stood up and looked down at her.
Looked down at Atii, the woman who I have laughed, trained, eaten and talked with for months who I count as one of the most important people in my life.
I am looking down at her waiting for her to say something, anything.
"I will support you," she said at softly but steadily while her head was bowed down. "Even if you step over the bodies of others. Even if you become someone the clans and the crews learn to fear instead of love, but I am not going to smile and pretend I don't see it happening or that I like what you have become."
I frown and ask confused, voice laced with unintentional coldness. "What do you want from me?"
"Remember what your parents died for." Her hands were closed hard in her lap. "They tried to live upright in a machine that punishes that, they worked for the innocent and the just trying to survive in a system that treats corruption as standard. You fought so your people could breathe, eat, sleep without waiting for the next person to put a boot on their neck. If you start climbing so ruthlessly that corpses become acceptable footing, then you are no better than Darnis and no better than the ones who had your parents killed."
The room went very quiet.
I should have been angry, but what I got instead was a sickly feeling in my chest and heavy heart when she brought back the past, half of me wanted to scream and deny it till my voice gave out while the other was a tired and quieter part that she was not wrong.
I glanced at the succession lists on the side table and suddenly it looked less like a sweet, sweet opportunity that made my heart soar at the prospects of ruling billions of lives, lifting myself out of poverty but now it feels... wrong, just looking at it made me feel my heart in my throat.
Atii exhaled, and the fight went out of her shoulders. She stood up infront of me and leaned in, pulling me into a hard hug, muscled but still soft arms around me body as her callused hands locked behind my back as if she could physically keep me from turning into the thing she feared. I stayed rigid for a second, then broke enough to hold her in return, face in her shoulder, breathing in dust, soap, and the faint metal smell that always clung to her after long days, it smells like her.
"Don't become them," she said into my collar. "Please."
She pulled back before I could answer, kissed my cheek once, firm and brief, and began to leave.
By the time I looked up, she was already at the door. She did not say goodnight neither did she look back. The door just closed and she was gone, and with it a part of me.
I breathed in and out heavily as I sat back down softly on the big, luxurious bed, all alone on in this room filled to the brim with sick and unnecessary displays of opulence that could have fed a normal family back on Elyria for year or more.
Only companion being my thoughts and the rhythmic tick of the old Alsakan clock.
I killed the glowing attendee list, lay back on the bed without removing my boots, and stared at the ceiling until thought became a single tight circle.
Is it worth it?
Tonight I was less sure than I had been in months.
****
The succession meeting was held in the high administrative auditorium of Vordax Prime, a place built to make whoever sat at the centre feel invincible.
By the time I entered with my circle, the room was already layered and segregated by power, live seats for those important enough to be physically present such as me. Holo-rings for those too high up, too distant, or even too cautious to stand in a recently purged capital where dozens of different interests colide.
Sector governors in clean uniforms and naval and army official along with civil consortia. Powerful families seeing if new connections could be made, and above the main dais, projected with formal pitiless clarity, the presence of Grand Vizier Mas Amedda anchoring the whole event in Imperial finality.
I took my designated place that was at the forefront and along with a chairs a small table filled with cups and drinks, which spoke of what those in power thought of me.
Reza stood to my right as chief admiral of Elyria's, Harlan to my left representing the civilian and administrative wing. Torv was just behind my right shoulder, a quiet wall in polished armour representing the ground forces and for once that I have seen him in this fucking life he is in his full issue stormtrooper armour and even has the helmet on. The sun will rise from the west and set east or whatever the chinese wuexia stories say.
Meanwhile Orlen was on the other side of him carefully dressed, he was my complicated symbol and tie in to the old blue bloods.
The session began in the usual way of Imperial political theatre: statements of crisis, affirmations of order and loyalty to the emperor, the ritual condemnation of Darnis as traitor, and a review of the sector's instability under oversized personal rule.
Names were read and claims were made.
Turncloaks discovered the exact pitch of voice to sell their stories to keep their heads while my old allies spoke for continuity and neutrals spoke for "balance." Someone from a trade consortium suggested a collective interim authority that would, coincidentally, leave merchants writing their own customs policy and charge for goods whatever they want.
I heard all of it and none of it.
Atii's words from the night before sat in the front of my mind and refused to leave me be.
I kept my eyes forward and my face blank, pretending to listen while an argument continued to spin in my head. Had I really changed that much? The first weeks on Elyria had been ledgers, storms, skimming meager credits and sending covert shuttles to the black market while fending off pirates, slavers and smugglers, I was simply trying not to die.
Would that be my third death? I died in my original world fairly young, I cant even remember how old I was then Kael died here in the assassination and I took over the body? Damn, I am like a cockroach I just refuse to die.
I give a soft sigh, back then all I cared was to have enough stability to sleep safely and not worry about natives sliting my throat or an assassin being sent to finish a job, I cared if people under my responsibility could eat and work without worrying if a corrupt official will strip everything they have or a raider steals and sells them to the Hutts. I worried for the children and the elderly if they have someone to care for them, trying to be best I can, sacrificing my own comfort, time and money to make them less miserable.
My goal was to make my new people prosper and be content.
Somewhere after the victories, after the inspections, after rewards and accumulation of power, that original target had blurred. I had tasted luxury in small controlled doses: better rooms, cleaner uniforms, more exotic foods and drinks the way conversations stopped when I entered between servants to salute me.
I had tasted power in larger ones: Entire fleets answering to me, governors asking for terms and protection in return for obedience, enemies dying in droves in masterfully orchestrated victories. I had begun to think about expansions, bigger ships and more money. Trying to spread my name far and wide.
I had worked so hard so I and those under me could live content and happy.
Then I had worked so hard to win, regardless of the cost.
And somewhere in the winning, I had started working to rise.
Orlen murmured something about a minor house bloc supporting a "known stabilizing figure," while Harlan's stylus moved noting down things at impressive speeds. Reza's posture never cracked every bit the loyal officer and Torv scanned the side galleries for threat out of habit.
Around us the auditorium argued over the empty chair Darnis had left behind as if the object itself were neutral and only the man sitting in it could make it corrupt.
I knew better.
A chair that large made room for the worst parts of a person to sit down first, that chair is symbol of absolute power in the sector.
And absolute power, absolutely corrupts.
Mas Amedda's presence shifted the tone each time he interjected, short and crushing. Reminding every speaker even the most xenophobic that this not some random official but the Empires official second in command.
With Vader being more of an extension of Emperors will and his enforcer than actual leader, more like a Marshal of the Empire and its fist.
Meanwhile Thrawn spoke rarely, and he only did to point out a few things or clear up any misunderstandings that people might have had. I felt endorsements moving under the surface of the meeting like deep current: some toward older administrative names, some toward compromise candidates, some, unmistakably, toward the governor who dug in and fought and won a battle most fought impossible to have won.
Toward me.
My hands were steady in my lap but my thoughts were not.
Me, the boy sent to Elyria to be forgotten about and disposed off at peoples will had become a man people could picture in sector colours, and the most frightening part was how easily I could picture it too.
Just imagining how I controlled borders had direct authority. No longer asking but ordering. I could arrange patrols efficiently so that pirates and other scum be it criminals or Moffs could not treat mmy people as an inventory or an acceptable collateral.
One clean step up and the whole ugly cycle of vulnerability ended
One clean step up and Atii's warning stopped being warning and becomes reality, I become what I fought so hard against. Even now I know, if I sit on that chair the man that stands up from it might not be the same man anymore.
A local prefect finished a speech about trade continuity, while a naval clerk began summarizing remaining loyalist pockets. Someone laughed softly in a gallery and was silenced by a glare from one of the ISB officials joining in through the holo.
I was still in the palace bedroom in my head, boots on the bed edge, Atii's kiss cooling on my cheek.
I did not notice how much of the session had already burned away, niether how the clerk changed the speaker order.
Only when the auditorium's quietened and my name was called out did the room return in full colour and force for me.
"...Governor Kael Voss will now address the inquiry and present his account."
Wait what.
Harlan whispered, almost inaudibly, "That's you."
I blinked once, felt the lost stretch of time open under my feet like a missing stair, and stood.
The empty chair at the centre of the sector's future was no longer a distant political object, it was waiting for the sound of my voice.
****
I stood under the auditorium lights and waited for the first question to come.
"Governor Voss," said the central inquiry officer, a pale old man with a voice neutral voice. "when did your conflict with Moff Darnis Jerjerrod truly begin?"
"After the pirate confederation was broken," I said. "That was when we discovered large quantities of stolen stormtrooper armour and weapons that turned up in raider hands, there were also patrol gaps left open over known pirate routes. Formal requests for support were answered with delay, fees, or silence."
A second voice, from a live seat near the naval section: "Why was the Moff antagonistic toward you in particular?"
"Because I refused to pay into his protection network," I answered. "I paid no bribes or quiet percentages that were supposed to rerouted from the Empires tax to him, neither did I say no to answering to him first and Emperor Palpatine second. I refusedto purchase safety from the same office that created the danger and were openly disloyal to the Empire, and once you decline that system, you are no longer a subordinate. You are a threat and a nuisance."
Orlen shifted slightly at my edge.
"And why were you singled out," asked a civil representative, "rather than corrected through ordinary administrative pressure?"
"Because I organized," I said. "I was not the only one being singled out, I was the first in that corridor of the outer rim to force a united front instead of letting each world be hit separately. Stability for Imperial shipping, planetary populations, and lawful trade. That kind of cooperation looks like defiance to a man who profits from isolation and corruption at the cost of the wider nation."
The questions kept coming.
Why not only file complaints upward?
Because complaints would get swallowed whole and he would make them dissapear while intensifying his campaign against me so first I had to make sure me and my people were secured and once that was done I filed the paperwork and nothing came of it anyway.
How did I justify independent force growth and irregular procurement from non Imperial standard arms and ship manufacturers and second hand grade goods?
As emergency survival under neglect, then as defence after open attack. Stopgap hulls and systems bought to keep a governed region alive until formal structure could be implemented and arrive.
What would I do differently from Jerjerrod if handed broader authority?
Keep power answerable to outcomes in food, security, and route stability rather than petty greviences. Smaller room for personal feuds to dress themselves up as sector policy and answering to the central government first and foremost..
Could I guarantee that expanded authority would not recreate the same personal rule by fear and patronage?
I opened my mouth, and Atii's voice landed ahead of any polished promise.
That was the moment the real decision finished forming.
They could give me the Moff's chair, I can feel it that they probably would. I could take it, it is right there.
In the first months I might even use it well: redraw patrols, crush residual corruption, protect the lanes that had paid for my stubbornness in blood. Then the power associated with that chair would do what it always do, corrupt.
Road to hell is paved with good intentions.
Having that power would reward steel and brutality more quickly than patience and understanding. It would make examples feel efficient, it would teach me to treat lives as ballast. Atii had been right.
Unlimited sector power would not preserve the boy who had wanted peace and prosperity. It would sand him down into another Jerjerrod with better speeches and a cleaner uniform and while I know I would not be as bad as him initially but look at me after few months in having more power, already turned into this.
Who is to say what happen to me in a few years, especially when the war starts and the stress increases.
Smaller rewards, and a smaller corner on the map would be satisfactory.
I answered the guarantee question without promising sainthood. "No one can guarantee character under unconstrained power. Absolute power corrupts absolutely most of the time with few notable exceptions."
I nod towards Mas Amedda in a show that what I said does not apply to him or the Emperor, it would be kind of shit to be branded a traitor or something because I called the Emperor corrupt or something.
A murmur moved through the hall.
Then the inquiry officer folded his hands and for the first time something other than coldness appeared on his face, almost resembling intrigue. "Given your account, the endorsements already entered into record from multiple parties, some of high renowned and prestige, and the practical results attached to your name, this review finds you suitable for recommendation as the next Moff of the former Jerjerrod sector."
The words hit like a formal shell, on instinct I wanted to thank, bow and accept.
But my eyes flicked, once, toward Thrawn's impassive attention and, in thought, toward Pellaeon's earlier promise of reward. Endorsement had weight, and I am grateful for it but I have already made up my mind.
I smiled, bowed at the exact depth protocol required, and felt every ambitious muscle in the room lean forward with me with a bated breath but all I could think of was that particular smell that a certain person has and the words she has spoken to me.
"I am honored," I said. "But I must politely refuse."
The ripple was immediate and uncontrolled. Live seats broke into low exclamations some even standing up in seeming outrage and confusion while holo-figures turned toward one another in open surprise. Even Thrawn who is known for his stoicism and detachment clearly looked at me with open interest and a small smile as if recalculating everything he has come to know about me, though the quirk of his eyebrow shows that he himself is also surprised.
Beside me Orlen's breath caught and he sputtered beside me as if I had just failed to answer a simple "what is 2+2". Harlan froze with his stylus half-raised mouth open in shock and surprise, Torv meanwhile physically recoiled and looked at me from under his helmet. Reza is just frozen with a smile on his face.
Error.Reza303. Is not responding.
Mas Amedda's head tilted slightly. "Explain."
I remained bowed for a fraction longer and straightened up. "I am a loyal servant of the Empire. As a loyal subject, I do not believe I am worthy of that much unconstrained authority, and I do not believe any single office should carry it in this part of the outer rim. These sectors are too large and infested with pirates and close to the unknown region teeming with uncontacted species, not all of whom are friendly or willing to join the Empire peacfully. When one person holds that much power and range at the fringes, corruption becomes easy and enforcement becomes hard to maintain for a single person to do. Pirates, rebels, and private wars and who knows what else slip through the gaps while local populations learn that law is only as real and enforceable if you have the bigger stick."
I paused long enough for the argument to seat itself.
"If stability is the objective, the old sector should be divided into smaller, more governable territories. Clearer accountability and easier to manage for one person, less room for another Darnis Jerjerrod to grow inside the width of a map far away from the loyal eyes."
Deliberation exploded all across the hall: side conferences, muted holo exchanges, naval and civil officials testing possible scenarios and so it went.
Some objected that division weakened response speed and others argued the opposite, that Darnis had proved the danger of oversized personal domains. Thrawn said little, but what he did say left the impression that a fragmented administrative map under stronger oversight was not, to him, an absurd outcome.
Mas Amedda ended it with one raised hand that brought everyone's attention back to the blue skinned Chagrian
"The former Jerjerrod sector shall be divided into four smaller sectors," he announced. "The southwestern portion will fall under the governance of Elyria and Governor Kael Voss. Remaining appointments will be selected subsequently through proper review."
A second, different ripple moved through the room. One of opportunity, just now three more spots opened up, and as it would fall I have three rather close allies, together we can manage this little forgettable part of the galaxy
Mas Amedda's gaze fixed on me. "The Emperor is pleased that the outer rim is producing such loyal governors. His eyes are upon you."
There was no warmth in it, honestly it did not sound like a warning but to me it did.
Oh fuck. The prune emperor is looking at me. As long as he keep Vader or whoever the fuck else he has I will be happy.
"You are dismissed for now," he said. "Clerk teams will draft the new boundary lines and prepare the formal rewards and acknowledgments due to Governor Voss and supporting commands."
I bowed again, slower, and stepped back from the center.
The empty chair of the old sector remained behind in the political light, no longer waiting for me to sit in it. In its place was a smaller seat, not as grand or in the spotlight but it is enough for me. I am content, I would probably fucking suck anyway with governing what is it, two thousand inhabited planets or so? I am playing tall not wide, easier to develop, manage and defend.
I started to leave with my circle under a hundred recalculating eyes.
****
Atii reached me before the auditorium doors had fully finished closing.
She must have been watching through the holo-feed with the others, she turned into Atii shaped rocked and crossed the outer hall at a near run and hit me hard enough that Torv actually had to support me so I dont fall flat on my ass.
"Welcome back, Kael," she said against me.
Not governor.
Kael.
I held her in return without thinking about the audience, one hand on her back the other on her waist and for a second the whole shit show was was gone and she remained.
She pulled back just far enough to look at me, eyes bright and unguarded then laughed lightly and punched me lightly in the stomach which considering its her it still hurt, though my small forming abs mitigated the damage.
What is with her and punching me. I swear this girl is going to be the death of me.
"You refused it," she said.
"I did."
"Say it again."
"I refused the Moff's chair."
She made a small helpless sound and hugged me a second time, shorter, fiercer. When she stayed close, her forehead briefly against my temple, my hand did not want to leave her waist, and her fingers lingered at my collar as if checking I was still made of the same material that she first found me made out of.
What does that even fucking mean? I dont know myself.
Orlen broke the moment with all the grace of a dropped wrench.
"You refused," he said, incredulous and openly miffed.
Learn to read the room you fuck.
"They were handing you the sector. Do you understand what kind of leverage, what kind of protection and power it was, what kind of future-"
"I understand," I said simply while still looking at Atii when I answered him. "I also understand what that chair does to the people who sit in it too long and what it takes from them in exchange."
Orlen stared as if I had declared oxygen to be toxic and decided to breathe pure carbon monoxide.
Jaster, by contrast, was smiling, not the battle hungry smile from transit that wished for glory and rewards but something more serene as he looked at me and Atii. He turned a thin bracelet once around his wrist with his thumb, the one Elara had given him, and when she came through the hall and stopped at his side he glanced from her face to Atii and me and seemed, at last, to complete a private thought and agreeing with it. Elara's mouth softened into a knowing smile, she rested two fingers against Jaster's armored forearm, and the understanding that passed between them needed no speech: some victories were larger than maps, and some refusals were a kind of keeping faith and better in long term.
Torv and Reza had drifted into their own low commentary a few paces off.
"There goes the easy fucking life, shame I wanted to be the captain general of the Great Moff Voss" Torv said dryly. He then groaned. "That would have been so popular with the ladies. I could just imagine them calling me Great General Torv. All my acadamy years wasted."
Reza's mouth twitched. "What academy years? Didn't Armand brought you on board after they found you half starved on Chandrilla after losing your security guard gig?"
Torv grunted and chuckled "Go fuck yourself oh so important future Grand Admiral Reza."
Reza just smiled and then sighed "No unlimited budget for me to procure the best and biggest ships to play around with, there will be no ceremonial processions each week or throwing bottles on newly made star destroyers each month. No endless line of people pretending we are wise instead of dumb and luck. Truly tragic."
"Back to broken docks and argumentative clan ledgers."
"And caf that tastes like recycled hull solvent."
"Same old, then."
"Same old," Reza agreed, and the two of them shared the sort of joke that only landed after too many near sleepless nights going over paperwork while drinking Coffee that wakes you up and corrodes your stomachs inner lining.
Harlan was already half-buried in boundary implications, but even he looked less strained than during the meeting. The southwestern sector under Elyria was no small prize. It was power with borders, authority with a shape that could still be held by human hands, he was probably banking on getting those administrative personal droids to take off all his loads but now that we are a smaller, more manageable sector we might get bumped up on the waiting list but still have to wait for a bit while longer.
Sorry Harlan, hang in there my brave pen warrior.
As we began moving toward the residential wing assigned to our contingent, I caught Reza and Harlan on either side long enough to make the next intention clear while the room's politics were still fluid.
"The remaining three sectors should not become a lottery for turncloaks," I said quietly. "If central authority wants stability, they should look at the people who also stood up against Darnis' corruption like Sera Quill. Juno Praxx. Brask Luthen. I warned them before the first strikes. They survived, and they are no doubt grateful for it, I want their names in front of every clerk drafting appointment options and give our quiet endorsement to their campaign, also tell Sera to stop offering her services. Please."
Harlan nodded at once. "I'll send it through the acknowledgment channels and the boundary committees."
Reza's eyes narrowed in approval. "Better them than someone we have no positive connection to."
Orlen heard enough of it to look even more offended that I was giving away board positions I could have controlled directly. I let him stay offended.
The whole point of refusing unlimited height was refusing to become the sort of man who needed every surrounding piece to be dependent.
Atii's hand slipped through the bend of my arm as we walked, almost as natural as breathing for both of us. She was talking quickly now, excitement returning in a warmer tone: what rewards might still come, what the southwestern boundaries might include, whether formal recognition would finally open better supply lines for Elyria, whether the clans would calm down and if they could get many small foundlings running around or even invite some other travelling clans.
I answered her earnestly and with warmth in my voice, I leaned into the contact, and felt myself smiling without calculating the angle of it. The way she talked about expanding her clan with a lot of foundlings had me smiling more at the way she described how she would take them on trips across Elyria, train them in martial arts and shooting maybe even how to hot wire a droid, she sure does love kids.
We did not notice how far ahead of the others we had drifted until Jaster called something amused from behind and Elara laughed under her breath. The rest of the group trailed in our wake: Orlen still frowning though he seems to be accepting it probably just confused how someone could refuse a seat that his brother and family did so much evil to keep hold of.
Torv and Reza still exchanging jokes and making up plans of what to do when they get to Elyria and to maybe ask Sera Quill for some of her girls services to celebrate.
Harlan at some point had disappeared, probably going to a quiet and secluded space to build lists or something. I dont know, and at this particular moment I could not bring myself to care. I spend most of my waking hours as Governor Voss.
For now I just want to be Kael.
Atii's shoulder brushed mine. "You're here," she said, softer so that only I could hear.
"I'm here."
Her fingers tightened once around my forearm.
Whatever came next be it boundaries, rewards, the Emperor's distant attention, the remaining sector appointments could be postponed.
Behind us, clerks were already drafting the death of Darnis Jerjerrod's oversized domain.
Ahead of us, for the first time in a long time, the path looked narrow enough to walk without losing the people who mattered on the way up.
I kept Atii's arm in mine and let the others catch up when they would.