Chapter Text
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It's about four standard weeks into their journey through the Unknown when Rae finds the boy curled up asleep in an armchair in the lounge on the second deck. She's come for some alone-time herself, knowing the elder Hux never ventures down this far on the Imperialis and that small, strange army of feral children never seems to leave the training area. She could have gone to the room she's designated as her own, but as the weeks drag on, it becomes more and more depressing to stay cooped up there for extended periods of time and coming to the common area is somewhat refreshing, even if she's not here to socialize.
His presence was not immediately noticed, but it startles her when she does catch sight of that mop of bright red hair, standing out like a sore thumb in the dark corner of the otherwise abandoned room. Realizing it is only tiny Armitage Hux slumbering peacefully in the chair, she sighs and decides to let him be, settling herself into a different chair on the far side of the room, close to the triangular viewports, and begins reading the ship's records on her datapad, again. She's read these records over and over, committed most of them to memory by now. Since the ship hasn't had much flight time, there's honestly not that much to remember. She reads over the inventory of provisions, again; there's still enough stock to last them three full years. She suspects her sanity will have run out long before the food if this journey is to last that long. She tires of these logs quickly tonight and switches tabs to type something herself instead.
Her notes at this point have become scantly more than a diary of sorts, chronicling my forthcoming descent into madness, she thinks grimly. It's not easy being cooped up in this ship with Brendol Hux being the only other adult aboard. If he even counts. But she steels herself, knowing that hardship is what forges strength. The isolation she faces here will come to serve her well as she rises to become the leader of the galaxy. Her Empire. She will do it, she thinks. She has to.
She's written a bit about her experiences on Jakku, namely her brief time spent in an uneasy allyship with Norra Wexley. Through several bizarre twists of fate, she wouldn't be alive had it not been for Norra and her husband. Rax would be on this ship, not her. Him and his bastardized version of the Empire. Somehow working together with those Rebels is what saved her, is what will eventually save her empire. Weird, how things work, sometimes.
By rights, Norra should have executed her when she had the chance, there at the end. Rae would have done it had she been in Norra's position. Maybe. Well, she's not sure. Before it all went down, she knows she would have done it without flinching. But Norra had looked Rae square in the eye and told her she was 'sad' for her. And then she dropped her blaster and left. Mercy? Or damnation? Perhaps Norra thought she was leaving her to a fate more cruel than death, knowing everything Rae had worked for was in shambles at her feet. Rae doubts that, but can't say for sure. If it's true, though, if that were really Norra's intention, it gives Rae further impetus to keep going, to rise again. Spite is an incredibly powerful motivator, she's found. And yet, if she does manage to establish her empire, she notes, she sincerely hopes she won't have to face Norra Wexley again.
Rae takes note of not only her mental processes as this journey drags on, but also of the bizarre phenomena they've witnessed out here in the depths of the uncharted regions. To the best of her ability, she tries to detail exactly where they've encountered certain mass forms-- satellites, meteors, or otherwise-- for if-- no, when-- they come back this way.
So absorbed in her work is she that hours pass before she notices how heavy her eyelids have become, how slow her mind. She's worn herself out for the day. Powering off her datapad, she rises from her chair and stretches, her joints popping from being too long at rest. That ache in her side throbs and she winces a bit, then remembers that she's not alone here and it will not do to let her guard down, even if the room's only other occupant is a sleeping five year old child, still curled in on himself, breathing steadily.
She frowns. Why is he here instead of in his quarters with his father? If it's for the reason she suspects, it's about time she pays Brendol another visit. Abuse will not be tolerated aboard her ship. Not unless she's the one doling it out, and in that case it's not abuse; it's justice.
She frowns again because the boy is not her responsibility. She never had children of her own because she didn't want them, and still doesn't, but she knows she can't leave a five year old alone, even if he is asleep, and even if he is nothing but perfectly disciplined and respectful when awake.
She approaches the chair where he rests quietly, not wanting to startle him awake, and crouches down.
"Armitage," she says in just above a whisper, repeating his name when he pouts but doesn't rouse. "Armitage," she says louder, touching his shoulder. He gasps and his eyes fly open, meeting hers with a wild, terrified gape.
"Shh," she keeps her hand wrapped around his upper arm firmly, and he slowly comes back to himself, blinking and rubbing his eyes.
"Sorry, sir." He says, sitting up, posture straight as a board.
"What are you doing here, Armitage? Why aren't you in your quarters with your father?"
His shoulders slump ever so slightly and he looks down.
It's as she suspected: he's hurt him again. The thought of it fills her with fury beyond simply knowing that the older Hux has disobeyed her direct order. Typical of the stubborn man, she thinks, he has to be told more than once. He won't get another warning.
"Come on," she says, standing. "I'll deal with him in the morning. But I'm not leaving you here on your own."
The boy scoots off the chair and stands, staring up at her, waiting. She turns and he follows after her, falling into formation as if he thinks to match her long, practiced strides with his tiny legs.
She leads them to her quarters, the nicest-- and largest-- such room on the yacht, wherein she points to a couch in the living space outside her own bedroom and tells him he can sleep there. He pulls his boots off in the antechamber before entering and lines them up toe-first against the wall. The corner of Rae's mouth hitches up to see such precise commitment to orderliness from such a young child.
The lights brighten to 80% as the boy makes his way to her couch, and Rae goes to pour him glass of water. There's something of a small kitchen in these quarters, though Rae never uses it, not having the provisions nor any knowledge of cooking anyway. Perhaps in the actual Imperialis, this room would have been fitted with a protocol droid to attend to meals and drinks, but alas. No such comforts on this mere replica. Walking back into the living space, she sets the glass of water on the sleek black table in front of him while he watches her quietly, perhaps unsure of what to do.
"Thank you, sir." He says quietly.
"You will address me as Grand Admiral," she corrects, folding her arms over her chest.
"Yes, Grand Admiral."
She gives him a half-smile of acknowledgment before walking to her room to fetch an extra pillow and blanket for the child.
"Here," she offers them to him and he accepts them silently, swallowing.
He stares down at the items a moment before looking back up at her, eyes glassy, and says: "Thank you, Grand Admiral."
Polite, she thinks, overly so. And formal, beyond a measly five years. What has Brendol done to you?
She almost thinks to tell him "you may call me Rae when it's just us," but she doesn't want him getting too familiar with her, or the idea that this sort of arrangement will become habitual. She has no interest in minding someone else's child, no matter how advanced he may be.
"Sleep, Armitage," she tells him. "I have to be up at 0600 hours, so rest while you can."
She doesn't actually have to be up at any specific time, of course. The droid piloting the ship gets on perfectly well without her and there is no one to convey messages to and no way of doing so, but she tries to keep to a set schedule regardless, telling herself routines and order will be the only things that safeguard against falling into a pit of nihilistic depression as they carry onwards into the oblivion of the unexplored infinity. And, really, it is true. She needs that purpose, that reason to get up every morning, even if it is only for a hot cup of caf and several leisurely laps around the yacht. Without it, without purpose, she knows, things spiral into darkness quickly.
The boy nods. "Yes, Grand Admiral." He arranges himself neatly on the couch, pillow under his head, blanket draped over him completely.
"The refresher is over there, should you need it," she says, pointing at a closed door on the far wall. "I'll wake you in the morning. Goodnight, Armitage."
"Goodnight, Grand Admiral."
She orders the lights to 5% before entering her room, shutting the door behind her. If he were anyone else, she wouldn't be comfortable leaving them unsupervised in her quarters while she sleeps. But this child has always seemed the epitome of prim and proper and she has somewhat of an alliance with him that she doubts he would break. This sort of thinking has gotten her into trouble before, she knows, she knows, but Armitage is a child, too naïve to rescind on treaties just yet. He has no reason to betray her and has not once shown signs of being rebellious just for the sake of it as some children do. So, she rations, she's got no reason not to trust him right now. In the morning, she'll get to the bottom of whatever Brendol has done to his son this time and take care of it, lest she give the boy a reason to doubt her. If she can't keep her end of their deal, there is no incentive for Armitage to keep his.
She changes into sleep clothes and slips into bed for the night. On the small bedside table sit the two game pieces she took when she ended the life of Gallius Rax: the Imperator and the Outcast. Which is she right now? She frowns. That's a musing for a different day. Ordering the lights off, her mind wanders to that radiant nebula she saw from the viewport earlier, its flickering neon colors reminding her of a certain type of bioluminescent insect native to the caves of her home planet. She wonders of she'll ever see them again. Of course you will, she thinks, you'll have free range of movement once you become Emperor.
In the morning she wakes and dresses, as has become her new routine. She checks and double checks herself in the mirror, fully aware that she's got no one to see, no to meetings to attend, no one to command, and no one to impress, yet she refuses to give into that cynical temptation towards lethargy that will so seamlessly lead to despair.
There hadn't been much in the way of fresh clothing onboard the Imperialis, but she was able to find a few things that fit her well enough. It's not quite the aesthetic familiarity and security of a finely-pressed uniform, but it's better than the scavenger's rags she had been wearing when she boarded this escape vessel. At least she was able to find a spare command cap in one of the drawers. As far as she knows, Brendol doesn't have one of these, so it's a nice reminder that she outranks him in all ways. Oh, right. Brendol. She'd almost forgot. Well, there is one person she has to see.
Sighing when she thinks about having to confront the boy's father again, she fits the command cap snugly over her hair and then walks into her living room to find Armitage bundled up and still dozing on her couch. She walks past him and goes to the caf machine the kitchen was blessedly fitted with (she really did take the best quarters for herself) and sets it to 10: maximum caffeination. The bubbling of the machine as it begins to dispense her much-needed wake up bev awakens the boy, who stretches, sits up, and rubs his eyes.
As she takes her steaming mug back into the living space, he is folding the blanket neatly, a task that looks somewhat ridiculous given that he's less than half the size of the thing.
"Do you drink caf?" She asks after a minute of observing him quietly, to which he just stares at her as if he doesn't speak Basic. Maybe he's not old enough to have had it before, it's also possible he's simply never been offered. "Here," she says, holding out her mug. "Try it."
His eyes widen as he hurries to take it from her. He takes a small sip and instantly pulls a face, just as quick to offer the offensive drink back to her. She smiles inwardly when she takes it back from him as he attempts to appear gracious, thanking her for the courtesy. "Not old enough to need it, I suppose," she says. "Why don't you go take a shower and I'll escort you to the training room after?"
“Yes, Grand Admiral.”
She watches him as he heads off towards the refresher, considering. She's going to need assistance as she works towards her goal of galactic unification, the mistake she made last time in thinking that she could do it alone now fastidiously learnt and acknowledged. She knows now that sometimes the right ally at the right time is what makes all the difference. And who better to enlist as an ally, then, than Armitage Hux? Already he trusts her, and it's so much easier to groom help from the beginning than win them over later after they've learned to mistrust and suspect. Besides, Armitage is exemplary in his dedication to perfection and order in a way that reminds Rae of an idealized version of herself as a girl. He's got a fine young mind and an eye for detail. Vicious as well. Not shy to oversee violence, to command it, if necessary. And those children listen to him. More than that, they listen to him alone. Though she has no intention of letting base savagery become the foundation for her empire, being able to leash and command it could be key. The boy may yet prove useful, despite what his buffoon of a father may think. She swore to protect him from Brendol in exchange for protection from those savages, and she'd better make good on that promise, for her sake, if not for the boy's. Though she'd told Brendol she didn't care, she finds that somehow, she does. In a way.
When the boy comes back from the refresher, hair wet but combed, she sets her mug down on the table and crouches down in front of him.
"Armitage," she says severely, taking him by either arm and piercing him with her gaze. "Your father. Did he hurt you? You can tell me. As I said, I'll keep you safe from him. That's part of our accord and I intend to keep my word. But I need to know, did he hurt you?"
The boy shrugs and looks down and she rebuffs him. "Eyes here," she says sharply, pointing to her own. "Don't look away from someone speaking to you."
He meets her eyes and swallows, shaking his head.
"No?"
It's obvious he wants to look away, but he's trying so hard to follow her directions, squirming under her attention, cheeks turning pink. "No," he says, finally. “But he snores so loud. I can't sleep in the same room as him."
Rae can't help herself, she laughs. She closes her eyes and bows her head, smiling. He snores too loud. Is that all this was? Brendol may still be the buffoon she thinks he is, but at least he hasn't disobeyed her. Good. For more than one reason. When she's regained composure, she looks back up at him. “And that's why you sleep in the common area?”
The boy nods. “I still don't think he likes me much, either.”
Rae gives a short sigh, shakes her head. She might be able to stop the abuse, but she'll never be able to get Brendol to love, or even like, this kid. That's not her responsibility anyway. She's got a galaxy to bring to heal, an entire order to put in place. However, she knows she can't do it alone. And this young child shows so much promise.
What does it matter that he is but a child? The Empire needs children. She shudders, hearing Rax's voice in her head. Disturbing though it is, and as much as it pains her to admit, it's not entirely wrong in this context. Her vision, however, is less about terror and savagery and more about loyalty and justice. And those are things instilled by good example.
She releases him and stands, smoothing down the front of her tunic. "Well," she says. "There's nothing I can do about that. But." She pauses momentarily, considering the offer she's about to make carefully. It's not one she makes lightly. "We can't have you sleeping in the officer's lounge, all right? So if ever you need a quiet place to get some shut-eye, you come see Auntie Rae. This couch will be open for you for the duration of our journey, understood?"
Armitage looks up at her, unblinking. His lips part and see sees tears beginning to line his eyelids.
"Now, none of that." She commands, straightening her posture and adopting a more formal demeanor. He does the same, a flawless mimic. All signs of moisture have evaporated from his eyes and he stands poised like a soldier ready for deployment. "To the training room, right?"
"Yes, Grand Admiral!" He salutes her, clicking his heels together as he does. She nods and they're off.
She delivers him to the training room where those strange, feral children wait to receive instruction from this boy who was very near tears just minutes ago in her living room. It's unsettling, but this is something that's already been put in place and it's not of enough concern for her to step in just yet. Perhaps if things get too out of control, she'll have to, but for now, she'll wait and see how it develops. If she truly has Armitage's loyalty, and he truly has that of this bizarre child army, then they are as good as hers. And if they are truly as fierce and brutal as they were the day Rax made her witness that gruesome display, all the better for when they grow to full adults. They might need it where they're going. Wherever that is.
Soon, Rae finds herself with company more often than not, but rather than being the burden or nuisance she worried it might become, it's something of a blessing. The boy hardly makes a sound when he arrives, speaks only when spoken to, and is soon proving to be more than just not-an-annoyance.
“You're hurt?” He asks her one morning, catching her wincing at the ever-present pain in her side when she comes out of her room not expecting him to be awake yet.
“No,” she says, straightening as if to prove this true, but the pain only doubles. “I'm fine.”
The boy's eyes go from her face to her ribs back to her face, giving her a look that plainly says he doesn't believe her, yet still understands. He doesn't press, but says: “Ice makes it better” and gets up and goes to her kitchen. She stands watching him, her hand now pressed flat against the throbbing ache in her side. Armitage comes back into the room carrying ice wrapped in a hand towel.
“Thank you,” she says as she takes it from him and presses it against her broken ribs. “How'd you get so smart?”
He almost smiles, then doesn't seem to know how to and shrugs. “Private education, I suspect.”
Rae does smile at him, then sits down on the couch with the ice still pressed against her. “I suspect you're right.”
He smiles up at her, for real this time. That might be the first time she's seen him do that. He's missing a tooth, the bottom center. She's almost alarmed before she realizes that he's probably of the right age for that. She doesn't know much about child development, nor does she care, frankly. It's just a thing that happens as kids become adults. She can't remember when her own adult teeth started growing in, but she couldn't have been much older than Armitage is now. What? Five? Six? It hardly matters. She nods and he salutes her before padding off to fetch her her boots. They're half as tall as he is, but he handles them as best he can and helps her pull them on as well as his clumsy, unskilled hands will allow.
Another day, not long after that, she wakes up to find that he's already up and has set the caf machine in motion. He must have been watching her, observing carefully which buttons to press and how she takes her caf. He gets it right. Clever boy. She tells him as much and soon waking up to find a steaming mug awaiting her easily becomes part of her morning routine, one of her favorites parts.
He tells her about the training when she asks. Though she still finds something repulsive about this whole thing, she sees that commanding this small army of children gives him purpose, and with it, she sees him gaining confidence. He doesn't flinch when blood is spilled, bones broken, not even-- especially not even-- when he was the one to order it. He's growing more vicious by the day. Good. His weakness as a toddler has been corrected. It's troubling on a deeper level, but superficially she can't help but to think that his earlier conditioning has given him the potential to go so far. (Stars, is she really seeing the 'good' in child abuse? No, she tells herself, that's not what she means. What she means is that this boy has been tested but not broken, that he's survived. She can't undo what's been done to him, but she can teach him to take that experience and use it as a weapon for the next time someone tries to hurt him. That is why he has the potential to go far.) With time, he will make a fine right hand man. She grows more sure of this each day.
The weeks crawl onward and turn into months that drag just even slower. She has to wonder if time itself is being warped by some yet-unstudied phenomenon and that's why this journey is taking what seems like a lifetime. Though she knows it's unlikely, she worries the supplies could run out before they finally convene with the Eclipse. The scenario is not one she wishes to think about. She's done a lot to survive this long, but there are certain lines she's not ready to cross. Anyway, that's still a ways off and she's left hoping the Imperialis will find its destination long before then.
Good news comes about 13 months into their trek. They are nearing the end of their journey. The pilot droid has received signal from the Eclipse indicating it is only three day's travelling ahead. Rae's heart swells at the prospect of things to come, and then races as she comes to realize: the hard part is just beginning.
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