Chapter Text
She was standing at attention in front of Admiral Konstantine and mentally going through every good luck ritual she knew of in the hopes that it would help her.
Of course, it didn’t, not that she had really expected it to.
“Lieutenant Wren, did it not occur to you that when you were given strict orders not to ‘test your weapons systems’ on nearby debris that you were expected to obey them?”
She didn’t flinch as she replied, “Of course it did, sir, but something seemed wrong with them, so I had to make su—”
“Lieutenant Wren, this is not the first...incident we have had with you. You have been repeatedly, explicitly instructed not to vandalize the walls on this ship. And what have you done instead?”
“First of all, sir, I have to correct you. It wasn’t vandalizing, per se, just artistic expression. And besides, it was in my room.”
He shook his head, sighing. “‘Artistic expression’ is not the same thing as spray painting a wall on an Imperial Star Destroyer! And while it may very well be your room, it is still my ship. Is that clear to you?”
She bit her lip to keep from replying, only nodding and adding quietly. “Yes sir.”
“And this is why you are being reassigned to a ground base.”
She couldn’t help the jolt of surprise. Her eyes widened and she took a step forward, her grip on her helmet loosening. “A ground base?! Sir, my talents would be wasted on a ground base, my teachers at the Academy on Mandalore said as much—”
“Lieutenant Wren! I can assure you, until you can prove that you have discipline, you will be assigned to the Lothal Imperial Complex.”
Lothal?
She’d never even heard of it.
“And I can also assure you that I received your full report and file of your time at the Academy. Your teachers, while they did recommend you for the Starfighter Corps once you applied, strongly suggested that your talents would be better suited in engineering, specifically weapons manufacturing.”
He paused to watch her, a brow raised as he waited for her reaction.
She forced herself to keep calm, forced herself not to think of that mistake she had created, the mistake that her arrogance had caused her to create, the mistake that only she could take the blame for.
Sabine bit her lip, hard, and clenched a fist as she took a short breath. Say the wrong thing, and it’d be worse than a ground base assignment.
“I understand, sir. When will I be leaving?” she spoke as calmly as possible, vaguely aware that she was clenching and unclenching a fist.
“We will arrive at Lothal at 1800. Be ready to go. Dismissed.”
She nodded once and turned, forcing her steps and breaths to be calm and even instead of hurried and harsh. She arrived at her room, and it took all her restraint not to throw her helmet at the wall.
She should’ve been more careful. Should’ve listened to orders.
Tristan would’ve listened to orders.
But she wasn’t Tristan, was she?
She sighed and began to pack, checking the chrono. She had about six hours still before they left hyperspace, presumably at Lothal.
Where even was Lothal, anyway?
She pulled out her datapad and typed in the name, waiting as the files popped up.
An agricultural Outer Rim planet. Probably didn’t even need an Imperial garrison.
But then...why were there so many files on it?
Her brow furrowed as she began to look through them. Most were above her level of clearance; all were, in fact, except for the ones that were routine reports.
Every report turned out the same: nothing worth keeping an eye on.
She rolled her eyes, shutting the ‘pad off and flopping back onto the bunk with a sigh of frustration. Just like Konstantine to send her to the one place where there would be no action. Great.
Still, she had six more hours. Might as well enjoy the Destroyer while she still could.
She stepped off the transport, blinking and taking in the dull landscape. The hangars at the Imperial Complex had been full—how, she had no idea—so they’d had to make do with an airfield a klick or two off from the base.
And, as it turned out, the planet was even more boring up close.
There weren’t any colors besides a bland yellow-brown and the flat gray of a city on the horizon. Hopefully it wasn’t too far out from the base. It would probably have a lot more excitement than...this.
A troop transport arrived exactly a minute later. She stepped aboard, not glancing back at the shuttle that had brought her planetside.
The trip to the base was a minute or two, just long enough for her to firmly solidify just how much she hated this place.
Why anyone would live here willingly, she didn’t know. But if one was a criminal, then maybe places like this would be perfect for laying low.
She understood now why Nar Shadaa was a lot more crowded.
The transport slowed to a stop and she let go of the strap on the ceiling, calmly walking off. An ISB agent stood with his hands clasped behind his back in front of the transport, probably waiting for her. She snapped to attention and saluted. If behaving would get her back in the air, the real air and not this planet’s hazy atmosphere, then she would do it.
“Lieutenant Wren, I presume?”
She nodded sharply. “Yes sir.”
“You’re in Dagger Squadron. We lost a couple of fighters last week to an attack by insurgents; I trust that you’ll be more than enough to help replace them?” He left it as a question. He was testing her, trying to see just how arrogant she was.
She took the bait. No use in trying to hide it.
“Of course, sir.”
He nodded, one eyebrow raising. A trooper approached with a datapad and handed it to him. The ISB agent took it, glancing briefly over it before returning his attention to Sabine.
“Your squadron is out practicing at the moment, however they are scheduled to return in….” He checked the time on the datapad briefly. “Half an hour. I suggest you get settled in beforehand.” Without saying anything else, he handed the datapad back to the trooper and turned, walking away.
Not that she had expected anything else. Still, a name would’ve been nice.
But she had learned a long time ago that the Empire didn’t do nice.
She turned to the trooper. “The pilots’ quarters…?”
“This way.” The trooper turned and led her into the building, making a few turns before stopping. “There’s a room at the end on the left that’s empty. You still have around twenty minutes till the squadron gets back.” He left as abruptly as the ISB agent had, and she adjusted her bag before walking to the empty room.
The ISB agent had told her that the pilots had died about a week ago.
That still didn’t prepare her for the sense of unfinished business that hit her.
People had lived here. People she would never know. People that her new squadron had known, had spent most of their waking hours with, had trusted with their lives.
How was she supposed to take the place of all that?