Chapter Text
He was not a man to harbour illusions, had never tended to allot any brain capacity for what-ifs and daydreams. Certainly, extensive test scenarios and technical systems analyses with the goal to come up with alternative solutions – even emergency plans like the one currently in place – were an essential part of his duties as the leader of what had probably been the most ambitious stellar weapons project in the history of sentient life. But far be it from him to indulge in idle weaknesses like intellectual masochism.
Even if he had played out nightmarish situations in his head, tortured himself with contemplations of possible failure – his present circumstances were so absurd, he would never have considered the string of events leading up to this. He sucked in the chilly air – did the recycled air of a shuttle always taste as nauseatingly metallic? -, rested his pounding head against the durasteel wall behind him and started reporting to himself for the nth time in order to stay awake, to turn the inescapable horror into clarity:
1701 Total oscillator failure begins
1703 Exceptional audience with Supreme Leader Snoke
1705 Commencement of appropriate evacuation and contingency plans
1708 Execution of Lt. Rodinon and 6 stormtroopers for insubordination und moral subversion
1711 Surprising communication by Cpt. Phasma, who – despite not receiving corresponding orders – was already supervising the evacuation of the base’s peripheral facilities
1716 Departure from control centre by Upsilon-class shuttle, search for Kylo Ren
1728 Search successfully completed, departure from collapsing Starkiller Base via emergency hyperspace protocol
Said Kylo Ren lay on the ground opposite him, his irregular breathing punctured by pained noises drowned out the soothing murmur of the engines. Apart from that and occasional wailing, the black-clad man rather resembled a mangled corpse. His garishly pale face was distorted into in a grimace of pure agony. In combination with the cauterised wound stretching from his forehead to his cheekbone and his uneven features, the expression appeared barely human, almost ethereal.
On one occasion, after hacking away at the long-range communication consoles on Deck Esk with abandon, he had explained the imperative necessity of his volatile behaviour with the nature of the Dark Side. It required – much like a vengeful deity of some primitive tribal societies, Hux had unsolicitedly commented – a sacrificial offering of pain, rage or passion. In return, the Force would bestow the worthy with inconceivable power.
What a convenient way to give his childish tantrums a higher purpose. If the force wielder had at least proved to be of some use! Sacrifices were all well and good – each and every one of them had to shoulder hardships, officers, technicians and soldiers alike, united under the crimson banner of the First Order. But where had the legendary Force been that fateful day? Certainly not with its irrational disciple Kylo Ren. Now they we sitting – or lying, as it were – in this cramped shuttle, each of them half-dead in his own way, fully at Snoke’s mercy.
The irony of the situation was not lost on the general. It reminded him of a poem an old comrade had scratched on the back of his identification tags:
You and I are hourglasses
Just you and me
Time erupts but has no pity
And like lava I wish our bodies could freeze*
Of course, he only knew these verses because the officer in question was no longer alive. Having been placed in charge of the young sniper’s unit, it had been Hux’ responsibility to inform the family members of the man's demise. The list of casualties the terror attack on Starkiller had resulted in would be inconceivable. The victims all had given their lives up for a greater cause, the pursuit of a unified, glorious, orderly future – in stark contrast to the self-centred, corrupt elite on Hosnian Prime. What things would future generations learn about their lives and struggles? That was up to the survivors. History is written by the victors, after all. Their task hereafter was as obvious as it was unshirkable.
He could not fathom the Force being present on this transport vessel, either. The would-be knight was fighting for his pathetic life, the dark blood seeping through the bandages yet another pointless offering on the altar of the Dark Side. The darkness feeds on its children. Yet, Hux had not sworn his oath for this: the support of occult dalliances, the galaxy-wide hunt for Skywalker – unless the aging Jedi could bring down Starkiller from afar with nothing but the power of his mind, there was absolutely no urgency to find him. Snoke had brushed his exasperated petitions aside with an ominous smirk.
And the result was the wanton destruction of his life’s work due to a kriffing family feud. If he had received the order to kill his father, he would have carried out this task with utmost efficiency and subtlety. And he would have catalogued the instant Brendol had to acknowledge this final act of disappointment, the instant the light left his cruel eyes at last, as one of the few truly blissful moments in his life.
One of the greatest insults had been the order to share his well-earned command with Snoke’s protégé – a man 5 years his junior who had never exhibited a quantum of leadership ability or tactical prowess, despite his grandiose title Master of the Knights of Ren. The Finalizer was his flagship, part of the recognition he deserved for his accomplishments with regards to the planning, construction and administration of Starkiller Base. He had nothing to do with the Force, and yet he had involuntarily offered up the most significant, personal sacrifice. His legacy, his command, his whole career and, depending on Snoke’s mood upon being reunited with his disciple, perhaps even his life.
Failure is never the end. Only if you give up, the fight will be over.
An Academy instructor had once whispered these words of wisdom to him, as Hux had found himself confronted with a well-nigh insurmountable battle simulation. Back then, it had felt patronizing, but now he was grateful for the reminder. He pushed his aching body up the cold wall and push himself off, using the physical sensation to regain his composure. He could not allow himself to cultivate his ire, his growing loathing. How he would love to blindly vent his rage – maybe not swing Ren’s obsolete laser blade around, but instead forcefully plant his torn boots into the ribs of the ridiculous figure prone before him, scratch Rens obscene face into bloody shreds with his bare fingers or strangle him with his very own blood-crusted bandages. Such conduct was not befitting an officer of his station, however – he had already sunken to unfathomable depths. It was not suitable to improve their current situation, either. Pragmatism was the order of the day. Conversely, emotionalism, sentimentality even, was Ren’s uncontested domain. For now, it was necessary to endure the unendurable and suffer what is insufferable.** An apt phrasing, of which he made a mental note for his next speech. His time would come. Armitage Hux, the youngest general in recent history, would not be humiliated. Stars were born from collapsed matter. Only those who dare to fail greatly can ever achieve greatly. And yet: His base had caused stars to perish. What if the mechanisms of the universe called for reciprocity, demanded something in return for the ability to utilize all of a sun’s energy at once? Were he a more impressionable man, he might have entertained such philosophical parallelisms.
Rens sudden moan pulled him from his fatalistic thoughts. Instinctively, Hux fell to his knees next to wounded ally in order to push his chest back down, preventing his perfunctory stitches from opening.
“Quiet, Ren, you will aggravate your wounds!” Hux hissed.
“Where is ... the girl?” came the agitated reaction after a brief, confused pause.
“There was no one with you. She must have fled after striking you down. That is her handiwork, isn’t it?” He motioned towards Ren’s waist and face. It was only at that point that he noticed the glassy look in the eyes of the younger man. Wound fever? Madness?
“Stomach wound… was a bowcaster.” Hux lifted an eyebrow – of course Solo would have brought his rabid Wookie. At least, the smuggler was dead. In his delirium, the force-user had repeatedly told him as much as he lay bleeding in the snow. Ren drew a stifled breath. “She is strong in the Force… untrained … I should bring her … before Snoke.” Ren’s head dropped to one side, for the first time that day he looked Hux straight in the eyes, unmasked, almost pleadingly.
“First I will take you to the Supreme Leader. The desert rat can wait.”
“Are we … on the Finalizer?” the injured panted.
“No, on your shuttle. After the collapse of the base, there was no opportunity to return to my ship. Apparently, you are more important to Leader Snoke than the fate of the First Order.” He failed to banish the bitterness from his voice.
“Careful, Hux… sounds like … treason.“
Hux icy laughter filled the room. “Treason? You ought to be more familiar with the concept than I am. Who gave the Resistance the opportunity to destroy the oscillator, during the energy conversion process? 30 seconds, Ren! Then D'Qar would have joined the Hosnian System, instantly enabling the First Order to bring peace and structure to the whole galaxy!” Once again, he had talked himself into a rage. “Do you ever ponder the consequences of your actions? Do you ever consider the bigger picture?”
“A technocrat like you… claims to be on top of all things … General?” Rens voice had grown more stable, conveniently allowing to mock Hux. “Whose pride allowed the compromising of the shields and the intrusion of the resistance fighters? Perhaps you should have taken a redundant design into consideration?”
Indeed, the case of the oscillator shields would have to be investigated. But a second oscillator? Rerouting of energy within the base, regardless of the adaption losses and attenuation? Apparently Ren lacked technical understanding, too. Even if such safety mechanisms had been feasible, they would not have been able to meet the construction deadlines. And who had forced the First Order's hand to begin with?
He would no longer listen to such ridiculous accusations coming from the very man whose shortcomings had become so poignantly obvious at the only time his abilities had mattered. “Well, Kylo Ren,” he whispered condescendingly, slowly rising from his position and turning away from the wretched figure. “You seem to have recovered enough to spout unsubstantiated claims and deny your own colossal failure. I will order the pilot to plot a direct route to Snoke’s citadel.”
“Who is piloting my ship?!” Ren yelled, his voice breaking pathetically.
“Appropriately enough, I found a Lieutenant for the task who hates you almost as much as I do.” With virtually painful finality, the doors slid shut behind the general, leaving Ren to his beloved darkness.