Chapter Text
Holden Fyar, Lieutenant in the Imperial Navy, was hoping for a quiet shift on board the Exar Kun-class space dockyard Nexus, as it orbited the Imperial capital world of Dromund Kaas. He had spent the first half of his shift compiling several reports on the status of repair work for the ships berthed in the two small-freighter berths that he oversaw. The mechanics were, for once, not behind on their work, and, he privately hoped to himself, they might even get ahead of schedule. He had finished the most recent report, sent it off to the dock manager, a Lieutenant Commander Nylik, and had just filled himself a cup of steaming caf when the intercom for his office burst to life in static bursts.
“Lieutenant Fyar, you are to report to Commander Nylik’s office immediately.” A youthful, feminine voice demanded.
Holden looked down at his freshly poured caf, then keyed his own intercom. “This is Lieutenant Fyar. Instruction was clear. I am enroute.” He keyed the intercom off, sighed, and set the caf down on a clear portion of his desk, and then walked briskly out to meet with his superior. Some of the other Lieutenants in his office gave him commiserating glances as he passed by them, but then bowed their heads down to their own projects. Holden Fyar payed them no attention.
The walk from his own office to the Commander’s was not a short movement. Kun-class dockyards had been designed and built before the Empire had reemerged from the Outer Rim to challenge the Republic. As with many of the facilities designed during those times, the Empire had decided to elongate the dockyard to fit as many ships as possible, with little worry about being discovered by Republic spies. His office, as with all the berth management offices itself lay at the end of one of several spokes that jutted out from a central, spherical hub. The station’s own management was located in the hub. As he strode down the station, Lieutenant Fyar mentally cursed the station’s designers for placing the berth management offices so far away from the dock management. The Lieutenant Commander was not an officer who liked to be kept waiting, and although she had recently arrived on station – and made no effort to hide her displeasure about being assigned to a dock instead of onboard an Harrower-class dreadnought – the woman had developed, in Lieutenant Fyar’s mind, an unhealthy obsession with reminding all of her junior officers just how much she outranked them.
Still, the walk was good for one thing. The shortest, and most effective path, took one straight through the maintenance bays, and allowed him to observe the civilians and military personnel conducting various repair activities for the two ships whose repair he was overseeing. By the time he had made it down to the far end of the repair facility he had watched the final rivets and welds being applied to the Long Knife’s damaged senor arrays. He smiled slightly to himself – that array wasn’t on schedule to be complete for another two days. At this rate he could clear the berth within the next day and, if his luck continued to hold, have the ship discharged on someone else’s shift!
Lieutenant Fyar turned the corner once he reached the entryway leading into the dockyard’s central hub, and navigated the curving corridors until he reached the outside of the Lieutenant Commander’s office. He paused to collect himself, and reorient his thoughts to the present, then knocked on the closed durasteel door. He heard the door’s automatic lock disengage, and the door slid violently open. He walked in, and the door closed just as violently behind him. He carefully and deliberately moved over to stand and stood with his back straight before the higher ranking officer. He saluted, and said, “Lieutenant Fyar, reporting as ordered, Ma’am.”
The officer on the other side of the desk glanced up at him, and waved off the salute. She sighed, then stood up from behind her desk and walked over to the holoprojector set off to the side of her office. She waved him over to stand by her, then thumbed a command on her datapad. A projection of the entire station appeared before him, before it focused in on his own bays. Lieutenant Fyar watched silently as the Commander settled on the view that she wanted.
“I just finished reading your report. You’ve managed your berth well, Lieutenant.” She complemented him. “The repairs to both the Long Knife and the Varactyl both are coming along very smoothly.”
Lieutenant Fyar, taken back by the complements floundered a bit before stammering out some gratitude for her compliment. “Thank you, Ma’am.”
The older woman waved off his gratitude, then said. “That’s all tangential to why I’ve called you here. I’ve just received word from Imperial High Command. A Gage-class transport recently engaged with a Republic frigate out in the fringes of Imperial space. She survived, but she’s in rough shape. I’m moving you to a new berth to oversee her repairs. You have four hours to report to your new office in the Aurek docking spoke.
Lieutenant Fyar stared at her in some unbelief. “I understand Ma’am. But with all due respect, I would prefer to finish up my work on the Long Knife and Varactyl.”
The Commander narrowed her eyes, but did not immediately speak. The silence instead was broken by a knock on the door. She gave a tight smile, and pressed a button to allow the door to open. One of the other Lieutenants from his same docking spoke walked in. “I wasn’t asking, Lieutenant. You will turn over your responsibilities for your previous two berths to Lieutenant Talbott immediately and report over to Major Opris to begin prioritizing the work on your new assignment. You are dismissed.”
Major Opris was not in his office by the time that Lieutenant Fyar reached the Aurek spoke’s management offices carrying the small box of his personal belongings, and his cup of freshly cold caf, that he’d cleared from his old desk. The Lieutenant set down the box on the only empty desk set in the room, then looked around the rest of the small room. There wasn’t much – like many of the offices on the station the Aurek spoke berth management office was sparsely accommodated. Four small desks were arranged along the outside perimeter of the room, and a larger one was placed opposite the entryway. In the middle of the room a standard Imperial Navy holoprojector encumbered the limited floor space. It was currently turned off. Two other officers, both Lieutenants by the code cylinders on their uniforms, sat behind their desks absorbed in whatever assignments they had been given.
He was about to clear his throat and speak when the door opened and in strode two more individuals. The junior officer made a beeline for the only remaining wall desk. There he promptly turned on the desks controls and began his work. The senior officer, however, had stopped to look over Lieutenant Fyar. He raised a hand to his jaw and creased his forehead in brief concentration before calling him over. “You must be the new Lieutenant I’ve been assigned. Good. You know how to report in promptly.”
“I am Lieutenant Fyar, Sir. Commander Nylik told me that we were expecting a Gage-class transport in shortly that badly needs repairs?” The Lieutenant said. He noted that the other Lieutenants, though diligently working on their own projects had perked up to listen in on the Lieutenant’s instructions.
“You’re being assigned to oversee the work in our third berth, Lieutenant. The transport is only the first ship whose repairs you’ll oversee and manage.” Major Opris said, then gestured for Fyar to come closer. “You’ve got a little time to prepare for their arrival. I’ll show you to the berths and shops.” The senior officer turned about and walked out the door he’d just entered. Lieutenant Fyar rushed to catch up and walk with the man.
“First and second berths here are for serious repairs of smaller cargo ships. Third, fourth and fifth berths service the larger cargo transports,” the major explained as they briskly walked. Soon they arrived at an elevated walkway spanning the working bays. “You'll have your own electrical systems repair shops, your own fabrication section, and a team of dedicated space welders.”
“Understood, Sir. If you don’t mind me asking, Sir, why did you need me here?” The Lieutenant asked.
“You’d rather be stuck fixing small freighters and minor repairs over in Gamma spoke?” Major Opris asked in return with a raised eyebrow. Then he shook his head, and said, “Your predecessor made one too many mistakes in getting his last vessel repaired on time and schedule. Normally it wouldn’t be too much of an issue – we all understand that repairs often take more time than initially expected. The problem for the Lieutenant was that his last ship was the personal transport of a, shall we say, rather impatient Sith Lord.”
Lieutenant Fyar swallowed his next breath of air, then nodded tersely. After a moment or two, he said, “I’ll do my best not to disappoint.”
“I’d highly recommend it. It’s your head after all, Lieutenant. Good luck.” He patted the junior officer on the shoulder and left him there overlooking the activity in the bay beneath him, then left to go about his other business.
Lieutenant Fyar stood still for a few moments watching as the civilians and technicians below scurried about their own duties. He shook his head clear of his anxieties – it was always rough to be reminded of the pecking order in the Empire’s hierarchy. Not that there was anything for it. He’d just have to be careful, and make sure his work met expectations. He made his way over to the lift, and descended down to the main floor bays. There wasn’t much to recommend the bays for the work that they would have to support. Various repair parts lay scattered about the floor, with open containers of oils, coolants, and other liquids scattered all over the place. The fabrication section had several smaller generators in various states of disassembly. Overall, he looked around and felt his own anxiety raise its head once again. He approached some technicians lulling around on the floor and asked them to point out their shift supervisor. They pointed him in a direction, and after some time he found the old and grizzled man grumbling about unexpected changes to work schedules and incompetence of those around him. The young Lieutenant cleared his throat, and watched as the man jumped to fix himself.
“I’m told you’re the technician’s supervisor?” Lieutenant Fyar asked.
“Yes, Sir.” The man replied. “What can me and my crew for for you?”
“I’ve been given responsibility for the work conducted in the bays that service berth three.” Lieutenant Fyar watched the light of understanding dawn in the human’s eyes, then continued, “we have a ship that’s supposed to arrive in a few hours. From my understanding she’s taken damage in a recent scrap with the Republic, and needs significant overhaul. I understand that the crew finished their last ship a few days ago. Are the bays prepared to receive their new charge?”
The technician’s eyes bulged slightly, and he let out a choked laugh. “Prepared to receive their new charge, Sir? What size of a ship is coming in?”
“A Gage-class transport, named the Black Talon.” Lieutenant Fyar answered.
“Gage-class? Well then, no Sir, they aren’t going to be ready to receive a ship of that size by the time she arrives.” Lieutenant Fyar raised his eyebrows, and the supervisor corrected himself. “I’ll get the crew ready to receive her, Sir, but it ain’t going to happen with you standing over me here. We’ll be ready to begin work on the hurt lady by the time her mooring’s complete and she’s offloaded all her cargo.”
Lieutenant Fyar considered that for a minute, then nodded his head, and set the supervisor to his new tasks. He turned around and left with the man issuing orders to various technicians on setting the bays aright. A new flurry of activity sprung up all around the bays, and the Lieutenant could almost swear that various technicians, both civilian and enlisted military persons, sprang up from every nook and cranny.
The Black Talon limped its way into his berth some hours later. He watched from the walkway as it came to rest outside of the shielded bay doors and began its tethering operations. She was, in his opinion, in rather bad shape. It was almost more of a miracle that she had managed to pull herself into the dockyard on her remaining sublight engines. There were several large perforations on her hull, and several sections of the deck bore the evidence of the rough mauling that the Republic had given her. Luckily the mooring stations had the ability to adapt their attachment points, because several of the usual points looked as though the would break off if put under the strain of holding the ship in her mooring.
The senior technician came up on the lift and walked over to him. The man walked with a limp, but strode forward purposefully until he came next to the young officer. As he reached the younger man he saluted smartly. He then turned and looked over the docking ship with an experienced eye. He whistled, a piercing, shrill sound and said. “Well, Sir, would you look at that? Haven’t seen damage like that on a ship since just after the Treaty was signed.”
The lieutenant inclined his head towards the technician, but continued to stare at the transport. “Was this typical damage after a battle?” He wondered aloud, and the technician snorted.
“Typical? No Sir. Just about typical for a light dust-up between Captains who didn’t want to engage with each other. Most ships in the War came back much worse off, if they came back at all.” He reached over and patted the officer on the back. “Don’t worry about it Sir. We’ll get her back to spacefaring condition in a couple of weeks, no doubt. As soon as she get’s her moorings finished, we’ll send out the assessors and start getting the detailed requirements.”
A siren went off, its alarm echoing off the walls of the large chamber for several seconds before falling silent. Neither the lieutenant nor the technician reacted in worry to the alarm, though the senior officer straightened himself and finally turned away from his watch of the vessel. The technician looked him over briefly, then gave an encouraging nod.
“Best get yourself to the airlock control Sir. That ship’s Captain, whoever he is, is going to want your assessment on how long he’ll be forced to remain at dock. Best give yourself a bit of leeway too.” The older man counseled.
“I know. She’s not my first ship, nor is this my first berth.” The lieutenant chided. His companion seemed to bristle at his response, but the junior officer couldn’t bring himself to set the technician at ease. “Get the crews to work. I want the details for the required repairs on my desk in the next four hours.” Lieutenant Fyar ordered, then turned himself about and strode down the catwalk to the adjoining lift.
Once he was settled in the elevator he rested his head back against the wall and sighed heavily. The technician was a prime example for the problems associated with transitioning to a new berth just before a major repair was to begin. He had little rapport with this new team of technicians and mechanics. He knew the standards of how long such repairs should take - and, more importantly, where to find the expected standards for those repairs that were outside his own experience - but little understanding of how capable his new teams were compared to the standard or to his old crew. And, if the chief technician was any indicator, the previous officer in charge of the bay had been rather relaxed in his discipline towards his subordinates. That could prove problematic.
The chime of the elevator brought him out of his reverie, and he quickly put himself back together just before the door slid open. He hurried down the hallway towards the airlock and arrived in time to fall in with the rest of the welcoming crew. He took his place behind Major Opris, and noted, with quick glances out of the corner of his eyes, that they had been joined by several pairs of technicians and a squad of the Station’s Marine Security Forces. He quietly gave an updated estimate to his new supervisor, and received a quiet, small nod. The technicians and marines all chatted noisily for several minutes and the lieutenant shifted his shoulders. Suddenly, though not unexpectedly, the Major gave a sharp jerk of his head and all personnel hurried to get themselves into position lining either side of the wall. No sooner had the last technician pressed himself against the wall than the sound of a clipped, measured, and even step grew prominent in the young officer’s mind.
Commander Nylik herself walked up, greeted the Captain, and took the central position for the welcoming committee. “Figures she’d come to this one”, the lieutenant thought to himself. “This is the first time a ship of this size has docked here for repairs in years.” He noticed in the bright lights of the airlock that her brunette hair was streaked with several strands of gray, and that she almost seemed nervous to be taking the welcoming responsibility.
The whole committee had scarcely assembled before the hiss of a positive lock affirmed their connection to the transport ship, and a few seconds later the airlock door opened to reveal the leading members of the Black Talon’s crew. A middle-aged officer with Captain’s insignia stepped forward and received Commander Nylik’s salute.
“Sir, welcome aboard the Nexus. I have arranged for accommodations onboard for you and the members of your crew while the repairs are conducted.” Commander Nylik said quickly.
The Captain nodded, though Lieutenant Fyar though the gesture more absent-minded than he would have otherwise anticipated. The man looked around at the rest of the welcoming party, and froze when he caught sight of the marines. Then he nodded, almost as if in agreement with some unspoken thought. He looked back at the Commander, and said. “I expect you’ve had word from Grand Moff Kilrain then.” He took a quick breath, then asked for a debriefing room.
Commander Nylik raised an eyebrow in response. “Yes Sir. We have heard from the Grand Moff. I understand you’re transporting a rather dangerous prisoner. If you’ll permit the marines, we’ll take him off your hands.” At his nod, the marine detachment marched on past only to be stopped briefly by another officer from the Black Talon’s crew. The officer, a young female spoke a few words that Fyar could not hear, but the marines were soon off again following her into the bowels of the ship. “Now that that’s taken care of, please come this way and we’ll give you our assessment on the repairs to your vessel.” Commander Nylik said, then turned and began to walk down the hallway.
All the remaining personnel in the hallway began to follow suit before the ship’s captain reached out and tapped Commander Nylik on the shoulder. She paused, and he spoke. “I have a few guests on board that surely don’t need to listen to our discussion. Might I inquire about their transport off my ship?”
Commander Nylik arched an eyebrow, and gave voice to the same thought echoing in Lieutenant Fyar’s mind. “I’m sure that your guests can wait, Captain. It’s not like we’ll be all day about it.”
Fyar’s estimation of the Captain increased when the man laughed lightly. “I’m sure they could.” He replied. “But two of them are Sith apprentices, and although I’ve ruffled various feathers along my career, I’d rather not leave Darth Baras’ apprentice waiting on bureaucratic formality to be on with the rest of his business.”
Lieutenant Fyar had never had cause to learn the names of individual Sith before, but Commander Nylik had obviously heard of Darth Baras. Her eyes widened ever so slightly, and she glanced towards the air lock where eight individuals stood. Lieutenant Fyar gave his own glance and found himself locking eyes with the largest Sith he’d every seen.
The man seemed to fill the entire expanse of the small airlock, with crimson skin, orange eyes, and black hair. He was dressed in a red and black tunic, with gray epaulets that bore some burn marks, and a lightsaber at his hip. “Is that the apprentice?” Fyar thought. Behind the man was a small, blue twi’lek female. Beside him loomed an equally large monster, covered in scars, whose bald head was even more menacing than his size because of the half-hidden teeth hidden behind split lips. It carried a massive metal sword strapped to it’s back. Fyar watched in amazement as a cather pushed past the monster, and it shifted to the side to let the furred woman before it. She was dressed in deep purple and black robes, and also carried a lightsaber on her hip.
Before Fyar could wonder any more at which of the apprentices was the Darth’s own apprentice, Commander Nylik was speaking again. “Of course, Captain Orzik. I hadn’t realized you were carrying Darth Baras’ own apprentice as well. Lieutenant Fyar!”
He startled at hearing his own name. He moved closer to her, then stood at attention. “Ma’am.”
“You’ve given Major Opris your assessment, correct?” She asked. He nodded affirmatively, and Major Opris confirmed that he’d done so. “Escort the Sith and their compatriots to the shuttle bay. They’re to be on the first outbound transport to the surface.”
Lieutenant Fyar saluted, then turned to face the Sith back up the docking bay. He watched as the Cathar licked an unsheathed claw clean, and he gulped. He hoped that the Sith were in a decent mood. It was, he thought to himself, rather too late to hope for otherwise.