2BBY
“Captain Barrin?” a quiet voice asked from further down the main walkway. “Messages have come in for you over the comm.”
Penley Barrin, captain of the Victory-class Star Destroyer Cassowary, turned from his perusal of the viewport and the asteroid field his ship was nestled in, and looked at the man. He stifled a sardonic smile at the whippet thinness of his executive officer, Hayden Weatherbanks. Barrin had long since grown into the settled weight of the middle-aged and accepted the paunch that came with a good life. Weatherbanks was in his late twenties and still had the ‘not done growing’ look about him.
“Report, Lieutenant,” Barrin said, holding out his hand and waiting.
“Our patrol craft have finished establishing their perimeter,” Weatherbanks said, handing a datapad over. “Commander Tomar also wants to know if you want the screen widened any further than the gas giant.”
“At this point, our screen is pretty thorough,” Barrin said, reading the reports. “Once our listening posts are set up and running, we can lower the number of patrol craft and keep our fighters in rotation so they will stay rested and ready.”
“Very good, sir,” Weatherbanks nodded. His face took on a worried expression. “The final report on that list is a set of requests from…Oblivion.”
“I see,” Barrin said, keying for the report and reading. “He wants to begin his special assignments as soon as possible.” He sighed, keyed his acknowledgments of the reports, and handed the datapad back. “Very well. Begin sending our Intelligence detachment down to his deck for evaluation and missions.”
“Yes, sir,” Weatherbanks said. He stood silently for a moment, seeming to struggle with an internal battle. “Permission to speak freely, sir?”
“Go ahead, Lieutenant,” Barrin said, a faint smile coming to him. “You have questions about the Imperial agent or his mission objectives?”
“Well, yes, sir,” Weatherbanks said, seeming to arrange his thoughts before he started. “It’s just…unsettling, sir. I understand that Intelligence keeps a team or two of its staff aboard every ship of the line but having someone like Oblivion aboard just feels like he has taken over the ship entirely. Our patrol corridor is going to suffer while we serve as his mobile base, especially if we’re going to be hiding in this system.” Weatherbanks pointed with his chin out the viewport and to the distant star.
“While I agree with you that our patrol will suffer,” Barrin said, turning and walking down the bridge’s main walkway, beckoning Weatherbanks to follow, “I don’t believe it will result in utter chaos and piracy. The odd smuggler may make a run through, but we’ll catch up with them in due time. For the moment, Oblivion has need of us, and we have been ordered to render him aid in whatever fashion we can.”
The captain held back a grimace, lest Weatherbanks would make note of it. In his ten years of service with the Imperial Navy, Barrin had had his fair share of boring billets. From patrols on the Bannistar Corridor to escort duty along the Perlemian Trade Route between Anaxes and Brentaal, BArrin had known assignments when the most interesting thing to happen was the occasional rowdy evening with drunk crew members. At least this assignment gave Barrin a ‘first’ on his mental list: visiting a star system that no one else ever did.
IR-M-15-3, as the official records called it, was something of a failed solar system. It had a decent star, a class F yellow-white dot to Barrin’s eyes, but not enough material at its creation to form decent planets. Aside from the gas giant, only two other planets orbited the star, and they were too close to sustain life. Beyond them, a lonely ring of asteroids flitted through the orbit of the star. The Old Republic Exploration teams made a note of the systems’ existence, but most astrogators plotted around the star to continue traveling on the Corellian Trade Spine. In truth, Barrin suspected that no one even looks closely at what they’re plotting around, leaving the system forgotten by all but the most studious of astronomers.
Them, Barrin thought to himself, and Oblivion.
“Well, yes sir,” Weatherbanks was saying. “It’s still unsettling.”
Barrin smiled again. “I take it you do not like having the agent aboard ship at all?”
“No sir, I don’t,” Weatherbanks said frankly, lowering his voice. “Nor does most of the crew. I don’t believe even our Intelligence detachment cares for him much. I’ve been listening to their mutterings, and the crew seems to believe two wild rumors. You remember when Oblivion came aboard and ordered the entire hangar bay to be emptied of personnel before he would debark his shuttle?”
“Yes, of course,” Barrin said, nodding. “Not an unusual order from Intelligence, however. The Imperial Security Bureau has that as a standard operating procedure when they have a team join a ship of the line.”
“Yes, captain,” Weatherbanks said, “but one of our engineering ensigns had to go back to that hangar bay to retrieve his datapad, forgetting about the order. I listened to him talking with his team in the mess hall.”
“You did reprimand him for not following a standing order, I presume,” Barrin interrupted. “If we don’t see to his discipline before Oblivion learns about it, he will see to the reprimanding himself. I want our crew to survive this event.”
“Yes, sir,” Weatherbanks said, voice tight with impatience. “He’ll be working in the same mess hall for a week standard as punishment. But he also said that he saw Oblivion’s personal stormtrooper contingent, and beyond that they were bizarrely-colored, a deep violet with event horizons scattered around, but they weren’t wearing stormtrooper armor; they were wearing clone-trooper armor.”
Barrin raised an eyebrow at that. Clone troopers have not been seen among the Imperial military for quite some time; it has been nearly two years since the stormtrooper program had to begin accepting non-clones among its ranks. Barrin thought they had either filtered into the stormtrooper regiments as commanders or squad leaders or killed in the last seventeen years of bringing order to the galaxy.
“It’s entirely likely that the ensign was mistaken, sir,” Weatherbanks slowly said. “He is too young to have any vivid memories of the Clone Wars, if any at all. Maybe he mistook some specialized stormtroopers for the old clone trooper armor.”
“Possibly,” Barrin said. “But disobeying orders aside, the crew will always have its gossip during downtime. I would not worry about it, Lieutenant.”
“He also said he saw the agent himself, sir,” Weatherbanks said. Maybe it was the conspiratorial feeling of the discussion, or because of his own fear, but the executive officer was whispering next to his captain. “He saw Oblivion.”
Barrin grimaced, unable to hold the expression back. “Oblivion has been seen by non-Intelligence members before, Lieutenant,” he said. “If the man wishes an air of mystery to hang over him, and it does not interfere with protocol, then that’s his business.”
Weatherbanks raised an eyebrow. “So, the rumors about him aren’t true?” he asked. “I had heard he was not a man at all, but an alien of some sort. I also heard that he was a Jedi.”
“A Jedi?” Barrin asked. He chuckled. “Maybe he was, once. But the Jedi were wiped out almost twenty years ago; there’s nothing left to that religion. If he were anything, I’d say he was a Dark Jedi.” He shuddered slightly. “Not much of a difference to men like you and me, but at least he’s loyal to the Empire.”
“Were they really that powerful, captain?” Weatherbanks asked. “I always thought the stories about them were just that: stories. Myths and propaganda from the Old Republic days.”
Barrin looked at the younger man. “You are from Delrakkin, correct?” he asked. Weatherbanks nodded. “So, you never really saw the Jedi in their heyday. Trust me, Lieutenant, when I say that the legends of the Jedi were well-founded. I saw one when I was very young, during the war.” He shuddered at the memory. “Too much power in one individual. The Emperor was right to wipe them out and use those who agreed with the New Order.”
“Even if some of them agreed with the Emperor,” Weatherbanks said, “why would we allow one, a non-human at that, to work in Intelligence and come aboard?”
“Because, Lieutenant,” Barrin said, pausing in his walk to give Weatherbanks a stern look, “we serve the Emperor, as does Oblivion. The Imperial agent is trusted enough by the Emperor to be given leeway regarding who, or what, he is. If the Emperor decides that he needs to be given a ship of the line to succeed in his missions, it is our duty to obey.”
“So, he did take over our ship,” Weatherbanks said, his tone resentful.
“I would rather consider it a show of confidence in our ship and crew, Lieutenant,” Barrin said, walking past and nodding at an ensign hurrying down the main corridor on some errand within the vessel. “If the orders had come from an Admiral or Moff, I would have suspected we had fallen out of favor somewhere along the way. But Oblivion chose us, which I take as a compliment to our abilities and aptitude.”
“I see your point, sir,” Weatherbanks said reluctantly. “Do you know anything about what he wants with us being in this tiny, unknown star system?”
“No, Lieutenant, and I don’t want to know,” Barrin said, his tone firm. “If an Imperial agent has been sent out on a task, it’s a good idea to stay out of their way and be able to deny any knowledge of their goals. Though if I were to guess, it would have something to do with the Saulapran system.”
Weatherbanks paused for a moment. Barrin could tell he was trying to recall any knowledge of the star system. “The fishing planet?” he eventually asked. “What could he possibly want from there?”
“Again,” Barrin said, “I don’t know and I don’t want to. Let’s just hope that whatever it is that he needs from us, we’re able to deliver it to his satisfaction.”
***
“Scarn! Scarn! Look alive, ensign!” shouted a very familiar voice from across Deck 7C’s mess hall. Taran Scarn looked up from his plate and datapad to see Lieutenant Taggert approaching the table with a look of concentration on his face. The man’s uniform and appearance were crisp and neat, a sharp contrast to how Scarn normally saw the man: scruffy, bearded, wearing ragged civilian clothes or impressively dirty fatigues.
Scarn sighed quietly. For the most part, he understood his life in Imperial Intelligence. He could be sent anywhere at any time; if his technical skills were needed to keep part of the vast machine that was the Galactic Empire running, he would go.
But blast it, today was meatloaf day.
With the reluctance of a hungry young man, Scarn turned away from his plate and stood at attention. As Taggert approached the table, Scarn saluted.
“Lieutenant Taggert,” he said. Taggert returned the salute, glanced at the table, wincing at the plate.
“Apologies, Ensign,” Taggert said, “but I’m afraid you’ll have to eat on the way. Agent Oblivion wants to see us as soon as possible.”
“Yes, sir,” Scarn said, keeping the disappointment from his voice. Grabbing his datapad and a biscuit from his plate, he began following after Taggert, dodging around an incoming group of stormtroopers on their way into the mess.
“Any idea on what he wants from us, sir?” Scarn asked, wolfing down the biscuit. Taggert shook his head.
“If anything,” he said, “it’ll be a field assignment. The Emperor doesn’t just send high-ranking Intelligence agents out for a lark. Most likely he’s coordinating multiple plans from the Cassowary.”
Scarn nearly choked on a bite of biscuit. “But, sir,” he said, “I don’t have any field experience. I’m an engineer; a tech guy.”
Taggert chuckled. “How are you going to get field experience if you never leave the ship, Ensign?” he asked. He stopped at a turbolift and palmed its caller. “It’s about time you took your expertise out on an assignment instead of just fixing droids in the repair bay.”
The turbolift hissed open and the two entered. Taggert punched in the commands while Scarn finished his food.
“Best to remind you now before we get there,” Taggert said. “Have you ever met Oblivion or any of the other agents from Intelligence?”
“No, sir,” Scarn said. Taggert nodded.
“The agents are a particularly odd group, all around,” he said, “but Oblivion is one of the most dangerous ones. He absolutely does not tolerate failure, Ensign. You remember Ensign Connie McDermot?”
“The comms operator?” Scarn asked. Taggert nodded. “I heard she went out on assignment with Talmon and Lieutenant Wesselman a few weeks back.”
“That assignment was given out by Oblivion the day he arrived,” Taggert said. Scarn could feel the turbolift slowing down as they reached their destination. “According to the report, McDermot performed admirably, but they failed the assignment because the Lieutenant made several bad calls. You’ll recall that McDermot was promoted and transferred out a few days ago?”
Scarn nodded. “I thought Wesselman died during the assignment,” he said.
The turbolift came to a halt. Taggert shook his head.
“He died during the after-action report,” Taggert said as the door hissed open. “Oblivion put him in a ring he had installed on the deck that generates a disruptor field; something he always has installed when he goes with a ship. It generates the same energy that a disruptor rifle does, but it affects everything in the ring. It vaporized Wesselman and it took nearly a full minute. While it happened, McDermot and Talmon had to watch,”
Scarn felt horror sink into his stomach and gave Taggert a long look. “You can’t be serious.”
“As serious as I can be about these things,” Taggert said, stepping through the open door and leading Scarn down an unfamiliar hallway. “Oblivion might be very polite, but he’s as bad as Vader when it comes to not meeting his expectations. Let’s not disappoint, all right?”
Scarn shuddered but followed after his Lieutenant. “Yes, sir.”
It took about twenty steps for Scarn to realize that the hallways they were walking through had dimmer lighting, stretching out shadows into harsh planes and making the familiar layout of the Star Destroyer into something alien and unknown. Scarn felt the need to peer at every patch of shadow as they walked, not realizing until the third turn that they had not seen anyone else in the corridors since they left the turbolift.
“Here,” Taggert said eventually, stopping at a door. While it did have the standard keycard slide and number pad, the Lieutenant did not touch these devices. Instead, he rapped his hand on the door three times, the sound echoing into the empty hallways around them.
“Sir?” Scarn said, his tone a question.
Taggert shook his head. “Oblivion prefers the older customs when approaching his quarters,” he said. “It might be inconvenient, but so would being killed for not observing his rituals.”
Before Scarn could offer his opinion on such an odd behavior, the door hissed opened to reveal a soldier whose appearance nearly made the Ensign take a step back. The soldier was encased in Old Republic clone trooper armor, but where Scarn expected the standard white armor, this soldier had cast his plating in deep purples and blacks, with spots of white flashing through the mélange of color. Also, on the plating were stylized black holes, seemingly at random. It was truly a sight to behold, and one that made Scarn question the sanity of the soldier and his commander.
“Lieutenant Taggert and Ensign Scarn here, to see Agent Oblivion,” Taggert said, in a surprisingly formal tone. Scarn felt his spine straighten as his reflexes overrode his shock, and he was standing at attention. “May we enter?” Taggert asked.
“You may,” the trooper said, holding his rifle in the at-ease fashion, diagonally across his chest. He moved aside to let the Intelligence officers enter, closing the door behind them and re-assuming his guard position in front of the door. Scarn looked around the spacious chamber, wondering if this used to be the secondary command bridge or another specialized quarter.
“Good day, gentlemen,” a modulated, almost sonorous voice called from further in the chamber. “Please, step forward.”
The two did as they were told, stepping in a better-lit area that was ringed with consoles and tactical stations. Scarn looked at one of the screens nearby and marveled that he could not read what kind of program was processing in front of him. In his experience, that meant the program was either highly experimental, or tailored for non-humans. He did notice a two-meter-wide ring of some strange metal set in the floor off to the side, but he averted his eyes quickly from the sight, with Taggert’s story still in mind.
His eyes fell upon what Scarn thought was a man, if a man wanted to take a page from the Lord Darth Vader’s book on appearances and made it his own. Dressed in black armor and including a cape, this being towered over the Imperials, staring down at them with a sense of patient menace. Where Darth Vader’s helmet and mask looked more insect-like, however, this man wore a helmet that conjured up images of deep-sea creatures. A mass of tubing from the mask resembled the tentacles of some ocean monster, with the vocal apparatus resembling a beak nestled above the tentacles. The eyes seemed to be two large, empty orbs, angled with slight upward cants to further the image of some mythical predator of an ocean world.
“I am Imperial Agent Oblivion,” the being said, gesturing to a holographic display as the two stepped within the ring of consoles. “For the moment, you will consider me as your superior officer. Have a look at that display and tell me what you see, Lieutenant.”
Taggert walked over and considered. Scarn fought against their normal informality between Intelligence officers aboard the Cassowary and his desire to walk over and have a look for himself. While he might be curious, he was not so curious as to tempt the wrath of someone who stylized themselves after ‘monsters of the deep’ by breaking protocol. He remained at attention.
“It looks like some kind of stone tablet, Agent,” Taggert said, musing for a moment. “There are engravings all over it. It…it looks like an old, archaic star-chart.”
“Correct, Lieutenant,” Oblivion said, “but only partially, though it’s an allowable mistake. It is, indeed, a star-chart, and is even carved in an archaic style, but it is in fact a very recent carving. It’s less than forty years old.”
Taggert turned to look at the agent. “I don’t recognize the coordinates, sir,” he said. “Is it incomplete?”
“An astute observation, Lieutenant,” Oblivion said, bowing to Taggert. “The holograph does not hold the precise carvings, of course, but you are right that it is an incomplete star-chart. I have the rest in my possession. I’m only missing this final piece.”
“Are we to fetch it for you, sir?” Scarn asked, and immediately regretted it. His curiosity had gotten the better of him, and Vader was famous for lethally disciplining his subordinates for stepping out of line. He hoped that Oblivion would not hold to the same standard…
But Oblivion merely held up a hand. “After a fashion, Ensign,” he said. “If our adversary were to learn that we were searching for the same artifact, he might speed up his recovery efforts, or worse, destroy the artifact to deny us the resource. No, you’ll be assisting those for whom we arrange the work.” He gestured to Scarn to come forward and join the discussion, which he did.
“Who is our adversary in this, Master Oblivion?” Taggert asked, as Scarn came to stand beside him. Oblivion walked over to the holographic display and keyed in an entry.
In the center of the console ring, a display lit up, showing a Khommite male in a military uniform. Scarn looked closely at the being; he had never dealt with the Khommites before. They looked similar to Humans, but where Scarn expected hair, he saw a collection of small bulges running across the skull. The dull gray skin was slightly distracting.
“Our primary adversary is named Rosk 12,” Oblivion said. “He’s also known as the Mad Khommite General. He made a name for himself during the Clone Wars as a soldier of fortune, but he preferred to use Khommite-grown clones instead of the Republic Army troopers. He commands a sizable force of clone soldiers now, grown at various bases throughout the Outer Rim and on his ship, the Gentle Reproof, using sets of Spaarti cloning cylinders. I’m hoping that searching for this artifact will draw him out fully, but it is more likely you’ll deal with a field commander of his.”
“So, we are to both secure the artifact and keep his forces in the field?” Taggert asked, frowning. “Why involve a third party then, sir? We could handle the search by ourselves.”
“Because my methods are known to the General, Lieutenant,” Oblivion said. He pressed a button and the display shifted from the General to a planet that Scarn did not recognize. “If he figures out that I am involved in this artifact search in any way, he’ll withdraw his forces and go back into hiding. Because of this, you will secure a team of mercenaries and allow them to retrieve the artifact as well as draw out the Generals’ soldiers.”
Scarn nodded at this, accepting the logic of the mission, but his superior was eyeing the agent.
“Sir,” Taggert said, frowning again, “what do you want done with the mercenaries if they complete their mission?”
“I see no need to kill them, Lieutenant,” Oblivion said. “They might prove useful afterward. Get to Saulapran and secure their success. You’ll be there in two days. Dismissed.”
The two saluted to Oblivion and were escorted out of the chambers, skirting around the disruptor ring.
***
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