by Ryan Bliss
Star Wars: Price of Failure
Ryan Bliss
[email protected]
"Apology accepted, Captain Needa." - Darth Vader
Blackness, stars, and shafts of dazzling green energy. That was all he could see from the starport windows. The outline of his Star Destroyer Gray Fist was discernible, blotting out the perpetual starshine of space. However this normally breathtaking vista did not provide the usual comfort to the Captain. They chased the Millennium Falcon, and the gray-haired Captain stood resplendent in his ashen uniform, sharp green eyes scanning space, watching his best starfighters disappear from the monitor.
Captain Irtha thought about the safety of launching more TIE-Interceptors to pursue the Corellian; he had already lost four, including his Wing Commander. Unconscionable losses. In is most crushing defeats he had not lost more. Gray Fist had served with great distinction in the Imperial Navy, successfully extending the will of the Emperor further along the galactic spiral arm. Irtha personally had overseen the annexation of thirteen new systems. He wore the Emperor's Shield. But times were changing in the Empire and he didn't look forward to his report to Admiral Piett, a report of failure which would throw an ugly stain on his reputation with the high command, or worse. Of prime concern was his standing with the Dark Lord.
On patrol through a little used shipping lane, thier sensors had picked up the infamous Milleneum Falcon orbiting a dead planet, ostesibly effecting repairs. Irtha knew that standing orders, from very high up, were to commandeer the vessel and all aboard, or (less preferable) destroy it outright. He could not believe his luck, until the Falcon bolted from a dead stop to a one parsec lead.
The reports were correct, this is no ordinary Corellian Transport. No, she would be in our hangar already. Excuses. Irtha became angry, and a little bit frightened. Damn, they're still pulling away. If they make it to light speed this thing will be over.
The bridge was quiet except for the hum of computers and technicians, an R2 unit beeped instructions somewhere out of view. It must be done, Irtha thought.
"Commander, give the order. Beta wing, launch."
"Sir,"the first officer snapped and the order was relayed. Short moments later he saw five glittering, tiny engines pulling ahead. Their target was out of visual range.
"Captain, Alpha Five destroyed. Beta wing Time to Intercept two minutes."
Irtha cursed. "Divert all energy from the shields to the thrusters and go to one hundred and fifteen percent. I want to be within tractor beam range in two minutes. They won't get away this time."
"One fifteen percent, aye!"
The great ship pushed forward in the chase.
The second wing of TIE-Interceptors was within visual tracking range, and were re-diverting power from their engines to their guns when a hail of fire strafed through their line. The dagger wing starfighters split and took different vectors of attack. Beta One maintained pursuit and squeezed off three shots. He landed two on the Falcon's aft shield, which fluttered, before punching blaster fire on his titanium hull forced him bank and evade.
Beta One held back. Wing commander, Major Quan Shien, was a veteran, so he knew not to pursue the attack too vigorously in his unshielded craft. Instead he gave orders to his wingmen and they burned ahead to carry them out. Through his starboard-view screen he glimpsed the fireball as Beta Three was annihilated, following a vector that brought it fatally close to the Falcon's underside laser turret. Debris pelted his hull. But the turret had been occupied for enough crucial seconds. From behind the plasma flames and smoldering metal, Beta Four bravely pulled in firing and scored four more hits on the aft shield. It was down. The smuggler ship rolled and was forced to come about. Beta One and Two landed nine shots on the ship's front shields. Shien smiled behind his helmet, similar to a stormtrooper's but black as suited the strategic nature of his profession. According to plan, the Falcon was now heading directly for the waiting Star Destroyer. Child's play. As he swung in behind the Falcon his sensors showed the tractor beam locking on.
Instinct said to blast the ship now, as it was running before him, unshielded. Shien stroked the twin triggers. But the order was containment and capture and as the Falcon drew nearer to the Star Destroyer he knew his wing would have to fall back, or else take damage from the many turbolasers that would be pointed their way. Beta-One gave the order to fan out and cut off any retreat. He sighed as he did
so.
Either way, the battle was theirs, and soon the Millennium Falcon would be captured. Shien looked forward to dinner with his pilots and the stories they would share about the mission and the men lost. Victory is the sweetest of spices. He waited for the word. The sensors chimed.
Quan Shien frowned; his display showed some anomalous readings from the Falcon, readings that should not have been there.
From the bridge, Captain Irtha watched the battle draw nearer. He was dreaming, in his mind a picture of himself bringing Calrissian and the Wookiee Chewbacca before Darth Vader, an admiralty. How could they overlook the savings in bounties alone? An overdue admiralty. No oversight that. Had I come from a core system, I would have been a flag officer three tours ago.
"Do we have a lock?"he asked impatiently.
"We are acquiring, sir,"his first officer responded.
"Excellent, engage when ready."
The Star Destroyer's turbolaser's fired in earnest as the Falcon came into range. Irtha waited for his information.
An alarm sounded. "Captain! Torpedo Launch, from the Falcon! Two torpedoes. Acquiring, they've locked on."
Irtha grabbed a railing as he felt his legs go weak. A second passed.
"What? How? All forward batteries target those incomings! Maximum forward firepower!"
"Commencing target acquisition, activating Zeta batteries."
The Star Destroyer's lasers shifted fire into the surrounding night, aiming for two tiny, speeding projectiles amidst eternity. The Captain thought for a second,
what am I forgetting?
The lasers continued to fire away but there were no secondary explosions. Torpedoes. How did they install those on a Corellian? But then the Millennium Falcon was supposed to be a very special ship. She's full of surprises.
What's wrong, fool?
The shields are down.
"The shields, Lieutenant, raise the--"
But the shaking of the ship told him it was too late and he fell to the floor. Alarm klaxons sounded and there was panic on the bridge. Irtha began screaming orders, remembering protocol.
"Launch all remaining squadrons to protect the ship. Take the engines off-line and charge up all remaining shield batteries."
"Sir, we're listing,"the helmsman screamed. There was terror in his youthful voice. "The defensive net has gone off-line!"
"Carry out my orders!"Irtha roared.
The starscape was swinging by wildly outside the viewport. He could see the running lights of the Millennium Falcon and those of the fighters in pursuit who had resumed their attack. Then a blur and the Falcon sped across the bow of the Gray Fist and into hyperspace.
No.
Though Irtha would have preferred to obsess about his upcoming report to Lord Vader more pressing matters were at hand. He had to assure the safety of his ship. As he worried about his own skin, his crew now looked to him to save theirs. The torpedoes, which the Corellian wasn't even supposed to have, had rendered heavy damage. Navigation, reported problems and the sensors were inoperable. Other reports were coming in. While the TIE squadrons would provide a short range sensor net and limited protection, if the Falcon had reinforcements waiting on the other end of their run, the Gray Fist would have to be elsewhere when they
arrived. He ordered his officers to direct repairs and then paced the shaking bridge, occasionally barking for reports, all the while postponing his own..
"Captain,"the voice was that of Irtha's first officer, Commander Illon, "if I may have a word with you."
"Report, Commander."
"We have suffered losses in our forward defense cluster, five hundred minimum. Nearly half our targeting net is off-line. Sensors report slight damage and will be available shortly, as will astro-nav. But we have a problem."
"Yes?"
"Our hyperdrive has been moderately damaged. Engineering is confident they can get it running, an hour maximum. But sir, I don't think our problems end with our equipment."
Irtha, who had glazed over after hearing about the hyperdrive, snapped his eyes back to his first officer. "What do you mean?"he asked, unnecessarily.
The two men walked to the starport. "Captain, do you realize who is going to be inquiring shortly as to our progress?"
Irtha imagined he could hear mechanical breathing. "Well aware, Caelus."
He was well aware of the fate of those who disappointed Darth Vader. Around the fleet, officers spoke of the Dark Lord's penchant for dispatching failures. He would require a meeting, and you would go, because you were an officer and you followed orders. Then he would raise his black gloved hand and magically constrict your windpipe. The power to destroy a planet is insignificant next to the power of the Force. His metallic voice would be the last thing you heard, "You will not fail me again."
Captain Needa, with whom Irtha had graduated from the Imperial Academy, had lost the Millennium Falcon in a similar chase, during the Rebel's flight from Hoth. The whole fleet still talked about it. That the Falcon had been found and captured shortly later on Bespin hadn't mattered to Vader. Needa's "incompetence"was made into a harsh example for the fleet.
"There may be a another alternative,"Illon said.
Irtha sighed. As his ship returned to its proper alignment, he rested his head against the viewport.
"Captain, incoming message from Star Destroyer Executioner. Admiral Piett wishes to know our progress."
Piett, Irtha thought bitterly, was a recruit when I was commanding frigates. Now he is the human voice of Darth Vader. In the right place at the right time, that's all.
"Tell him that the chase is in progress and we will contact Executioner when we have more information,"Irtha said.
There was silence about the bridge.
"Carry out my orders."
He heard the communications officer relaying the message. What does insubordination matter now? Illon looked sideways at his Captain and nodded.
Collir Irtha's father had risen to first officer; most of his time serving aboard the great Man-O-War Peleon of the Tyrad Third Fleet. The Tyrad Third Fleet, and the rest of the Tyrad navy, sailed the Aquanis Ocean. This ocean, dotted with remote island cities, spanned nearly two-thirds the surface of Jhryss. T.N.S. Peleon and her sisters had served many hard fought years, mostly skirmishing with neighboring fleets, all remote from the policies of the Imperial Senate.
On Collir's homeworld, covered with oceans, the only commerce available was by sea. Humans, who had migrated to the planet in a time before remembering, lived on thin ribbons of land and to travel their world the Jhryssians had so concentrated on mastering the seas, the wind and tide, that little thought was spared for the heavens, other than as a navigational tool. At least that had been the case before the arrival of the SkyShips, the Empire.
They had arrived without the least attempt at stealth; swooping out of the sky like proud birds from huge invisible nests in the branches of the cosmos. In glittering white battle armor, Stormtroopers bled into their society, and supplanted the law. The Jhryssians abhorred ground fighting, preferring to settle their battles on the sea. The Tyrad navy was decimated, along with every other fleet, not because they posed a threat, but as a statement of dominance. After a few bloody weeks the Empire had allowed a cease-fire and initiated Jhryss into a Commonwealth of Systems, each with provincial rights, but each under the authority of the Empire. In exchange, a number of the citizenry were put to work, in all manner of needed positions. Promised that their status would not change, the people of Jhryss, like those of nearly a hundred worlds, acquiesced their planet. Flag Admiral Jikol departed with the strange Ambassadors as Jhryss' first Imperial Senator, never to be seen again.
Jolanir Irtha, Collir's father, survived the dark times. He cherished and remembered his world without the Empire and their edicts. Jolanir had neither the ability or desire to change his ways. The tradewinds did not stop blowing on Jhryss with the coming of technology, nor did the salt of the sea disappear from the blood of the Jhryssians. Though most agreed that the Empire had brought a dark cloud over their planet, after a while, resigned, the constant buzzing became accepted. The technical knowledge they gave off like candy could do no harm, and things had seemed to have changed little for 'regular' people since their arrival. Some however, like Jolanir, wished the Empire away. Collir remembered his father once setting him down, telling him:
"These gray suits are nothing to take lightly, son. They will promise everything and when they are done giving, you are left with nothing. They offer you that which you already have, but on their terms." He had sighed then, not an eloquent man, he wanted to say more. "They don't know the sea."
They don't know the sea. An old Jhryssian curse. Jolanir set sail five days before his son's sixth birthday and the news of his death arrived just before the celebration. The message was delivered by a droid.
He died at sea. That was all.
The image of Jolanir, tall, braving shellfire and blasters, standing by his Captain in high seas, would never fade from his mind, though the meaning of the man's words faded like a name etched into a beach.
In a world of seafarers, Collir grew up with the promise of the stars, dreaming of one day riding into the heavens with the Imperials. He appreciated the power they held, how the people of his town fled from Stormtroopers, how the Empire buzzed through the sky effortlessly while shipmasters struggled to find the right wind for travel. Collir's mother, Poran, had begged her son to find some landlocked fixation, but none of it reached the boy, who followed Stormtroopers and pestered off-duty officers for stories and advice. While his schoolmates practiced sailor's knots and astro-navigation, Collir studied technical manuals and omnidimensional tactics. Collir wanted everything the Empire had to offer and they could have all of Jhryss in trade. Approaching manhood he managed to impress a provincial governor and won the right to take the Imperial Academy admission test. The day he ditched school to take the test, he had never felt more terrified or exhilarated. Though he had no problem with their written questions, Collir was daunted by the combat and flight simulators. They represented environments and situations completely alien to Collir's being. But, through sheer will to succeed, and a desire to experience these new spectacular environs outside a computer, he mastered all of their simulations. Within a week, a squad arrived at the Irtha dwelling to inform Collir that he had been accepted and Poran that her only son was going away.
Collir had smiled wide and dropped to his knees. When he had packed his belongings and headed to the door he stopped to kiss his two younger sisters and his mother. His sisters had cried and wished him well. His mother, who had no tears left to shed, had turned from him.
"Your father would have disowned you. Can I do any less?"
When he first saw the Star Destroyer, awesome, terrible, and spewing TIE- Fighters in seemingly endless supply, hanging in orbit above Jhryss, he knew that he would never return. That hadn't bothered him then. They didn't know the sea, but instead they knew the stars. Collir Irtha would know both. Poran Irtha's words echoed out of memory, replaced by a rush of anticipation as the shadows around Collir, those from the Star Destroyer blotting out his sun, and the gazes of the officers around him, lengthened enough to become a new home.
That had been fifteen cycles ago, and now Cap
tain Irtha saw the fatal fulfillment of his meteoric career at the other end of a comlink. Outside the bridge viewport his starfighter squadrons buzzed about like so many angry hornets protecting their damaged nest. Irtha lost himself in admiring their maneuvers. Every second's indecision took the Captain farther over the line. Failure and insubordination.
He summoned his first officer. "Commander."
Caelus Illon, as usual, was quickly at hand. "Captain. Our hyperdrive unit has been damaged by the torpedo attack. The comlink--"
"I know about the comlink. Caelus,"Irtha drew the man close, "what is your alternative."
Irtha waved off an approaching Ensign. They both turned and looked through the viewport as Illon spoke with quiet urgency:
"I am concerned about the safety of my commanding officer in saying this, and I realize that I may be open to disciplinary action. Captain, though this will sound rash, I believe we may want to consider, as a last option, which we are quickly approaching, defection. Before you react,"he stopped Irtha's open mouth, "hear me out. We have no idea what ill Vader has in store for us. In fact, I feel we are all now in very grave danger. I have one or two--ah- -acquaintances in the Rebel Alliance who may be able to help us."
