I walked into the tailor's shop with a smile on my face, the door opening with a jingle of a small bell as the wooden thing swings inward. This was more of an upscale shop, something I probably wouldn’t be able to afford going to if it weren’t for the stipend provided by Fondor for the bearers of her honors.

  The shopkeep looks up at me and smiles: “Ah, young Dericote, here for the swordsman’s cape?”

  “Yes master Tailor.” I reply with a small nod of respect to the patriarch of a ten thousander family.

  “Well you’re just on time. Give me a moment and I’ll have it out for you.”

  I give another nod as the older man walks to the backroom of his store. I glance around, inspecting the various wares and clothes on display. I doubt I’d ever buy any of it for anything other than ceremonial purposes.

  “Here we are, go on try it on.” He says holding the cape out to me.

  I quickly pull it over my shoulders and connect the black steel cord to its quick release hold. I adjust its position slightly so it only falls off one shoulder then nod to myself. Yes this would do nicely.

  “Perfect.” I say aloud before offering the second half of the payment.

  “It is always a pleasure to make such fine hides into cloaks.” Master Tailor says, taking the credits easily, not even bothering to count them.

  “Thank you again for accommodating me, master Tailor.”

  “Ah, you know Fondor requests I prioritize such products over others.” Master Tailor teases lightly, “Now tell your father I say hello and ask him when the next time will be that he brings in another gator. I could use some more of its hide for later projects.”

  “I’ll be sure to do so.” I reply as I remove the cloak and place it within the offered case, “Have a nice day.”

  “You too, boy.” Master Tailor says as I leave the store and make my way home.

  I step into the lobby of the Ministerial building of Fondor. Ma’ had asked me to get a document from one of her Syndicate buddies and to bring it back before lunch. Who’d’ve thought getting back home would be so damn busy? I still had about half a Fondorian week, four days, each of thirty one hours, left before heading back to my command.

  I felt rather neutral on the whole thing. I hand off the document to one of Ma’s secretaries and wait in the lobby after asking if either of my folks were interested in going out to eat with me. It takes a few minutes, but eventually pa’ says he can make it for lunch, though ma’ is busy.

  I continue leaning against the wall as I wait until a Stormtrooper approaches me: “Your loitering is disturbing people. Get lost.”

  “I’m waiting for my old man to get some lunch with him.” I excuse my being there.

  “Yeah right, I’ve seen your type about before. Now get lost, smuggler scum.”

  “I know I ain’t upper class, but I wouldn’t go so far as to say I look like a smuggler.” I reply with a raised eyebrow. Sure, I was wearing a trenchcoat with a red bandana, goggles and a cap, but who wasn’t this time of year?

  “Former Seps are all the same.”

  I genuinely laugh at that: “Maker did you not pay attention to any of your briefings when you got posted here trooper?”

  “I don’t like your tone.” The soldier says as he raises his blaster slightly.

  I lock onto that quickly and open up my trenchcoat, slowly, to reveal a pocket with my spare officer’s cylinder sticking out halfway: “I don’t like yours. Give me your ID number trooper. I’ll be writing up a report on confrontational behavior in a governmental building of an autonomous Imperial subject world.”

  I can already tell this confrontation was drawing a crowd, my latest ISB tail was rapidly whispering into her comlink for orders, a Lieutenant wearing the rank plaque and uniform that designated him a member of the Stormtrooper Corps, that the Clones had begun being integrated into, though he wasn’t a Clone himself, was beginning a quickmarch approach.

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  I slowly and deliberately pull my codes cylinder out of its pocket and presented it to the Stormtrooper who pulled his codes reader from his belt and inserts it in a clumsy motion, clearly a new recruit fresh out of the academy. A moment of hesitation before it blinks green and transmits the basic information to the soldier’s helmet.

  I suppress an evil grin as he stiffens up, the Lieutenant finally arriving within range of polite discussion asks the standard question of: “What’s going on here?”

  “I am educating your man, Lieutenant.” I say as I continue to stare down the Stormtrooper, “On how to treat people to ensure he doesn’t embarrass himself in front of his betters.”

  “And you are?”

  The Stormtrooper quickly snaps a salute as I turn to the man and speak: “Fleet Admiral Dericote of the 120th Battlegroup, 97th Outer Rim Squadron, 347th Outer Rim Section and heavy cruiser Little Revenge, Brevet Junior Moff of the East Tion and North East Slice Regional Commands, currently off duty and waiting for my father to meet me for lunch.”

  The man pales considerably as the elevator dings and opens to reveal my old man in his casual uniform. His seemingly bright mood sours visibly as I continue to stand and wait for the Lieutenant to say anything. Pa’ begins marching towards the scene while I re-raise my eyebrow expectantly at the Lieutenant.

  “Apologies, sir. We weren’t made aware of your presence on world.”

  “I doubt that.” I reply, taking back my codes cylinder as I do, “But since my current shore leave is for personal benefit, I’ll excuse it. I will however still take your man’s TK number and your Officer’s ID so I can file a proper report.”

  “Of course.” The Lieutenant says before prompting the soldier to give his number before offering his own. I quickly write them down on some spare flimsy and nod to myself.

  “Very good. Let’s hope this doesn’t happen again, Lieutenant.” I say before walking over and intercepting my old man, “Afternoon pa’.”

  “Was that really necessary?” He ask as we begin walking towards a sandwich shop he favored.

  “You know me, gotta ensure the Empire’s best and brightest don’t do anything foolish. Maker knows it’s a full time job.” I reply easily, buttoning up my trenchcoat as we leave the building.

  “I only worry about you.” Pa’ says, “No matter how high you rise, you’ll always be my little boy.”

  “Pa’.” I complain mildly.

  “Oh shut it. You’ll feel similar once you have nieces and nephews of your own. Or the next time you see some of your cousins.”

  I consider it a moment before sighing in defeat, I had almost cooed when I met up with Philly and his family a couple days ago during dinner: “Suppose you’re right.”

  “And don’t you forget it.” He says as we enter the shop and place our orders.

  The meat is skillfully shaved off of a rotating spit by the Mrlsst owner and quickly stuffed into the sandwich alongside the slaws, cabbage, sauces and spice. A quick exchange of credits and a nabbed booth finds us enjoying our respective meals in comfortable silence.

  Soon enough we were heading back to pa’s office, for him it was to get back to work, for me it was to schedule an appointment to hand over the paperwork entailing my latest will and testament. Better make sure everything was up to code and that if things went sour my family’s possessions in my care still reverted back to them.

  A crack fills the air, my eyes widen as I’m pushed out of the way. No. Pa’s head turns towards mine, his eyes full of love, fear and certainty. I see the bullet pierce through him, breaking through his chest, right by his heart and punching into the stone road below.

  I crash onto the ground and start rolling, pulling the slugthrower from my holster, getting onto one knee and firing two shots back at the attacker. I see the top of their rifle, before they jump above the buildings disappearing from view.

  I turn to pa’ and quickly check his wounds: “Come on, not like this.”

  “I-”

  “Please pa’ not like this. Not you too.” I beg as I tear my trenchcoat apart with my left boot’s vibroblade for stopgap bandages. I don’t remember removing the knife from its sheath. I start plugging the wound at the front, ignoring the wince of pain on my pa’s face.

  “I- I love ya.”

  “Please, just stay with me.” I beg quietly, I need to get him on his side, but moving him might kill him.

  “Tell Naomi-”

  “You can tell ma’ yourself, just stay with me dammit!” I yell at him.

  “Tell ‘er I love her.”

  “Course I will.” I mutter, there’s too much blood seeping through the ad-hoc bandage. His eyes start to close, “Hey! HEY! Please, stay with me. I – I don’t, please pa’ don’t go.”

  “Maker, keep m-e.” He mutters, before his eyelids rest halfway over his eyes. No, please, no. Maker please no.

  “Pa’? Pa’, please!” I beg. Please, not like this. I close my eyes over him.

  “Maker we just lost a damn fine man.” I manage to spit out as I remove the family knife from my father’s sheath, “You better do right by ‘em, else I’ll be damn mad.”

  “Son, get out of the way!” A voice barks at me.

  I stand up and take a step away from my old man, breathing heavily. I feel the heavy weight of the family knife in my left and the slugthrower in my right. I feel grief, pain, determination: “You get him to a hospital NOW!”

  The Medics nod at me as I stalk off.

  “Son, we need a statement!” An approaching soldier in Fondorian army colors barks after me, green armband of the Military Police a violent mark upon his uniform like the red ichor staining the ground.

  “You’ll get it with the head of the bastard who just murdered my pa’!” I bark in reply. I place the slugthrower into her sheath as I cut my palm open with the knife, smearing it with blood.

  Whoever did this wouldn’t live to see the next day’s light.

  “Sir, we can’t just let you run off.” The soldier insists.

  I turn to face the apparent Sergeant: “This was the Dericote, General of Fondor and Commander of the Planetary Defense Force. You have two options, either help me murder the bastard who did this, or stay out of my way.”

  “I’ll need to contact the higher ups.” The man stills.

  I throw the knife into the floor, the blade piercing into the sandstone tiles of the sidewalk and standing upright, then begin pulling my pa’s commlink from him as the medics finish loading him into a speeder.

  I punch in the codes for Lieutenant General Graff. It takes a moment, but the man responds: “What is it Owen?”

  “This is Thraken Dericote, Owen’s kid. My father was just murdered on your streets by a long range slugthrower. His … his body is being brought to the closest medical facility. I need your authorization to participate in the manhunt and I want governmental dispensation for an execution of wrongdoing unless you want an escalation.”

  There’s silence across the comms for a moment before the General speaks: “You have my permission to join the manhunt and as temporary acting Commander of the Planetary Defense Force I approve your dispensation for the execution of wrongdoing as is the right of your family.”

  “Thank you. I’ll be stealing some of your men.”

  “I’m sorry kid.”

  “We’ll speak later.” I reply before shutting the comm off and snapping at the Sergeant, “Get me an investigator on the roof that assassin shot from. Deploy the bloodpups to try and catch their trail. Lock down the district and create a cordon. No one enters, no one leaves. Lock down the sewers and the skyhooks in district.”

  “I don’t think you have the authority to do that.” The Sergeant says.

  “I am just been officially deputized and am a ranking Imperial officer in command of two regional commands. If I’m not authorized to do that, I don’t think anyone planetside is.”

  The man hesitates a moment longer than necessary before nodding: “Understood, sir. I’ll pass your orders along.”

  “Good, you can hail me through my pa’s number.”

  “Where are you going, sir?”

  “I need to inform my mother.” I reply, nabbing the bloodied knife before I begin running for the ministerial building.