I stand at attention alongside the various other high officers who had been present or arrived shortly after the end of the coup. Honor was standing proudly, beside her, the second in command of the Home Guard, Admiral Screed and the other Admirals of the Guard. After them the various Colonels who had survived the apparently fierce ground battle, after them a wounded Tarkin, arm in sling, leg in a brace and bactapatch over one of his eyes, then myself and the Admirals of the Caridan and Anaxsi defense fleets, then the various flag officers of the revolt, who had surrendered after Zsinj’s death, and the loyalist Imperial flag officers.

  One could hardly tell, from appearance alone, the difference between those who had been loyal and those who had remained with the Empire. Yet it was easy to tell in truth. Each Republic loyalist had two Stormtroopers behind them, ready to drag them away to whatever fate the Emperor decreed for them.

  Yet it still remained quite a lineup. Half of the various officers, Imperial and Republic loyalist both, were outwardly as nervous as I felt internally while the Emperor’s right hand marched along the line like some hulking, mechanical, predator. I wasn’t entirely sure if I should be paying attention to him, or the man he walked in front of.

  Emperor Palpatine was seated upon his throne in the half destroyed ruins of the Imperial Palace, a quartet of Royal Guardsmen on each side of him, standing among the ruins. What had once been the Jedi temple had been destroyed once more by Solomahal and his men. A pity for a building of such historical value to have been sacked and destroyed not once, but twice in the past year.

  Vader finally decides to finish his intimidating observation from up close and moves to stand beside the Emperor’s throne. It was … small. Almost more a fine desk chair for a lesser world’s steward or a clerk of a more significant system. It was … ironic in a way. So much power invested into a single man on a lowly chair.

  “It has been brought to my attention,” The Emperor of the known galaxy begins, “that certain members among us didn’t quite act in ways befitting loyal servants of the Empire.”

  Despite everything, the flag officers of the coup stand proud alongside the various other officers.

  “Fleet Admiral Honor.” The Emperor says, “You had the forces to eliminate the revolting fleet, yet you hesitated.”

  “I believed it more important to secure the orbital facilities and infrastructure vital to Coruscant’s position as the capitol and her administrative faculties while waiting for forces whom I believed would join in putting down the revolt, your excellency.”

  “And my council has decided your decisions were … understandable. And yet I find them … lacking. You will give up your position as the Head of Naval Operations, I think someone more … decisive will suit the position better during our approaching military reforms.”

  I can barely catch Honor’s lips tighten as she snaps a salute in recognition: “Very well, your excellency. I will redeem myself however you deem fit.”

  “Yes, I’m sure you will.” The Emperor says, waving her statement away like some irksome pet before turning towards me, “Fleet Admiral Dericote. Your speed is suspicious, yet your willingness to act and abandon your post to secure the capitol does you credit.”

  I give a small bow in thanks. Did he want me to answer? Did he expect an explanation? I was in charge of the Separatists’ military headquarters on Raxus and had a known habit for collecting starcharts and maps. My rapid response couldn’t be too suspicious, could it?

  “Why were your men and you on the Perlimian instead of at Mon Cala?” The Emperor asks.

  “There were reports of Separatist activity at the edge of my command, your excellency.” I say, “Reports of the Separatist and war-criminal Vice Admiral Hatha, formerly of the Trade Federation and Separatist Navy, being sighted leaving the Gordian Reach to raid along the north eastern Perlimian. I decided to rally my 120th to Makem Te to either hold him off, destroy him or respond in aid to where he hit next. It was luck, in another word.”

  “Yes … luck. Though clearly your ambition in finally defeating your rival in war a final time had a part to play.” The Emperor spits and I flinch, “I believe you shall recluse yourself from your command for a couple weeks. Take some of the shore leave you have built up in the last three years of leal service to this state. It should give the ISB some time to take over your information ring without your continued interference.”

  “But your excellency-” I start, but the words get stuck in my throat. Actually, I can’t breathe. I grab at my neck, at the invisible hand that was restraining me.

  “Be grateful that this is the least I am doing to you. Don’t think your long term association with not one, but almost all of the ringleaders of this … revolt, has been overlooked. It is by my mercy alone you live and hold rank.” The Emperor spits, “Vader, release him.-”

  I collapse on the ground struggling to breathe. Maker, oxygen never tasted so good.

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

  “- In fact, this resistance clearly shows the message hasn’t fully sunk in. How to punish such insolence? Ah, yes, your project from which you diverted so much of your attentions. I believe I shall dissolve the Ninth Irregular Fleet into its respective battlegroups once more and give you an ISB detail until your loyalties have been proven again. I think the 587th Battlegroup will do good work in ensuring the security of the Dominus Sector while your 120th remains at Mon Cala and the 382nd continues its work in the north of your … current command.” The Emperor continues.

  I mange to right myself and give a bow as I respond hoarsely: “As you wish.”

  “Good, good.” The Emperor says before turning to the next officer, “Tarkin, you did exactly as ordered, yet did poorly in battle. Be glad I do not do to you as I have just done to your rivals.”

  “Of course, your excellency.” Tarkin replies.

  The Emperor turns to the Admirals of Carida and Anaxes next: “Be glad your delay is more understandable than Dericote’s speed.”

  “Yes your excellency.” The two Admirals mutter ashamedly in reply.

  “As for you, officers who defied me, I have another plan. Only those most loyal to me and those most determined to live, shall survive to see tomorrow’s sunlight.” The Emperor decrees before waving at his Royal Guard, “Take them to the Grand Inquisitor’s estate. He shall oversee their culling.”

  Various officers are lead out, a few beg for mercy, yet they are few and far between. Soon enough silence takes over the room. I inhale deeply, Maker keep me, I would not die here, my sentence has already been given, my punishment awarded. There is nothing more that could be expected of me.

  “All of you, leave us.” I hear the Emperor say and I turn on my heels to leave alongside my fellow officers, “Not you, Dericote.”

  Fuck.

  I turn around once more, though far slower this time, as my fellow officers abandon me here, feiglinge. I inhale deeply again as the two masters of the galaxy stand before me alongside the Royal Guards. I had to keep calm, stay strong, for all who have died.

  “There is another question, we have for you Dericote.” The Emperor says and I tilt my head in confusion as he continues, “Why did you not pass along the information of the betrayal on Coruscant to your superiors and your underlings within your command?”

  I inhale sharply before slowly and meticulously answering, my head bowed in shame: “I apologize, my Emperor. I … wished for the glory and assumed everyone within the Core would be rushing to Coruscant’s defense once word got out.”

  “I feel no lies, my master.” Vader speaks.

  “Yes,” The Emperor says with a grin, “His response is well worded, isn’t it my apprentice.”

  I feel a shiver go down my spine as I, for a moment, ponder the various weapons on my person. I would never survive pulling any of them, never mind aiming them at the Emperor and his highest lieutenant. Be it Vader himself who cuts me down, or one of the Royal Guards standing silently within the room.

  “I think … a proof of loyalty is required. Bring in the traitor.” The Emperor orders.

  Two Royal Guardsmen drag in the body of a beaten old man in the uniform of an Admiral. I feel my eyes widen in shock as I take in the visage of old Jerjerrod. He’s been beaten black and blue, an eye swollen shut, wheezing and blood dripping from each and every one of his fingertips. He somehow still has his officer’s cap on his head despite the beating and the man’s blood has soaked into it as well as caked his face along his un-swollen eye.

  I try to calm myself as the guards deposit him by throwing the Admiral onto the floor in front of me. His slamming into the floor makes me flinch in sympathy. I stand still as my eyes jump between the man and the two people who hold our lives in the palms of their hands, the air in their lungs and the simple vocalization of an order.

  “Your excellency?” I ask, staring up at the man.

  “A traitor lies before you. Kill him.”

  “A blaster?” I request.

  “I’m sure a man whose father apparently hunts such notable game can do without.”

  I look down at Jerjerrod as I consider the seemingly offhand comment. My jaw locks as I realize the implied threat. Clearly someone wasn’t only keeping tabs on my family, but had been digging. Especially if they knew my pa’s old hobby. I lean down and slowly, deliberately, pull one of my vibroblades from my left boot. I look up at the Emperor and since I’m not dead yet I right myself and move forward towards the soon to be dead man in front of me.

  “Sorry it ended like this. Anything you want me to pass along to your grandson?” I ask the man I was standing over.

  He coughs blood onto the floor as he looks up at me: “Only my love and request for forgiveness.”

  I nod and plunge the knife into the back of his neck.

  I walk onto the bridge of my Little Revenge like a wraith of myth, taking a deep swig from my flask as I do. Anything to stave off the memories of so many comrades in arms swinging by their necks as I was forced to salute the overseer of their executions. Gerra’s lifeless eyes had hurt the most, though Bush and Hornblower’s beaten corpses didn’t help. I take another swig, I felt like shit and many of my crew had ashen faces.

  “Alright. Here are my last orders for a month’s time. Faxe is in command of the 120th until my return. Head back to Mon Cala by the Perlimian and act victoriously and triumphant. Do drills and fire salutes, whatever you feel like, just appear joyous. Krugwolt has the regional command, obviously. We’re all gonna have ISB on our asses, but I’ve had it confirmed that at least Isard is dead, offed by one of Solomahal’s artillery shells, so their efforts are probably a bit divided and we can work around them for a while. I’ll see about getting Major Green to take over my intel network instead of the ISB, but I make no promises on that front.”

  “Sir, what about … what about the backup plan?” Mi-Kus asks

  “It’s still on schedule.” I reply, “When the Empire goes too far. We will make our stand.”

  “And if it goes like it did here?” An Adjutant asks nervously.

  “Then we sell ourselves as dearly as Fleet Admiral Zsinj did. Long live the Republic!” I bark.

  “Long live the Republic!” The bridge echoes.

  “Now, I’m heading to Fondor on some mandated shore leave. Be sure to wipe the recordings on the bridge for the last hour and blame it on a code malfunction. Make sure our guests don’t end up like their superiors. Mi-Kus, your bridge.”

  “My bridge.” My Adjunct Captain replies grimly.

  I’m finally home. It hasn’t fully set in until now, but I’m finally fucking home. I drop my bag onto the floor as I take my first step onto the damn sandy and dusty roads, the wind is pushing the sand into my skin, but I feel alive and safe and home. Wait. I think I need to wait. I admire the view for a moment before adjusting my scarf and officer’s cap to better shield me from the scattered debris, sand and dust, I had almost forgotten what a pain it was. Still I’m smiling like a loon.

  I pick up my bag and pat R4 on her dome as we start marching towards ma’ and pa’s house. It takes a while and I end up needing to board a train because I just can’t be bothered to fucking wait that long. The train is loud and the floor has sand and dreck on it, in it, from thousands upon thousands of people stomping through. A small kid is starring at me and I wave at him with my left arm and a small smile on my face. The kid tugs on his ma’s sleeve and points at me.

  I get off at my stop and continue to march through and remember an old upbeat marching tune and start whistling. R4 stops in her tracks, but starts whistling along with me as we march along to the tune to my parent’s house. Older, not much wiser and not as whole, but still marching and whistling a tune. The door opens and I stop whistling as I run the last dozen odd meters and tackle my aging ma’.

  “Oh my little mudpup. You’re home and safe and I missed you.” She says quietly into the crease of my neck.

  “It ain’t the same over holo.” I say back as I squeeze.

  She breaks out of the tight embrace, her arms still around me as she takes a better look at my face: “Oh my mudpup, they hurt ya real bad. Come on in, come in. Pa’ should be in our office, but I was reading in the living room and heard ya and I knew it was you.”

  We break the embrace and walk into the house R4 trailing behind. I take off my cap and gloves and hang them by the door. I place my bag on the floor and remove my boots. I was home. After three years of war and so many dead friends, I was home.