Hull 721, plot arc the second

[Eleventh Century Remnant]

The final segment of chapter 16; difficult to write to begin with, but lots of fun later on once I had decided how far he was going to go.


Life in the goldfish bowl, Brenn thought, isn't all it was cracked up to be. He had a rough idea how it was going to go. For the sake of the simulation they were going to be put under stress, somehow, but whatever it was it wouldn't involve combat.

Nothing boosts confidence like victory, so the chances of them finding something they could fight, and successfully managing to fight it, were zero. A failure in action- or being unjustly held responsible for someone else's failure, or worse one of the crew screwing up that badly, that was much more probable. Most probable that they wouldn't even get the chance.

The simulated ship they were simulatedly manning- and was it better to think like that, or to pretend it was real? How much good did bearing in mind that it was all a sim do, was suspension of disbelief viable?

On balance, Brenn thought that it was. If there was something wrong with the test, it was that it was consciously artificial and unrealistically extreme. Here to pass the test, then, not deal with the situation presented.


The pretend ship they were pretending to fly, then, should have made him feel right at home; it was a kitbash. Modified military-spec CR90 for the recon/picket role, uprated engines- and no doubt there would be a test of administrative skills in there, the paperwork would be in knots.

Long range sensors and comm antenna that would have looked more appropriate on a much larger ship, with the usual collection of loons to manage them, and the senior noncom looked to be a sensor control passed- over warrant officer who had failed to make the jump to commission. Lower deck unionist if there ever was one.

They had a bay full of probe droids and a bale full of forms to sign for each one, so evidently a good deal of the exercise was going to revolve around being harrassed by the system above him, and seeing how much of it he was willing to delegate in the sure and certain knowledge that they would cock it up.

They retained the main dorsal and ventral twin turrets, two twin Corellian six-by-six, six bolts per second at six megatons each, that apparently had no-one assigned to man them. Joy.


Ten minutes for the exercise staff to get on board and get themselves sorted out, that was the time he used to go over the ship's papers and find at least that much out, then the change of command ceremony that officially began the exercise.

Most of the team assigned were obviously intending to enjoy it; what sort of man got picked for this job, which basically amounted to a lower deck lawyer's dream- tormenting officers until they broke? Not the sort they were pretending to be, that was something to go on- at least he hoped they weren't.

Looking at the shambling horde, two hulks, three affirmative actions, half a dozen sad sacks, mounds of kit on robopallets that had half a dozen items of contraband he could see from here, some overloaded, some practically empty- this is what medieval torturers used to do, Brenn thought. The showing of the instruments.


The ceremony itself, surprisingly, went off relatively smoothly- on the surface. There was an ugliness in the air, a sense of brutality waiting to happen-was that how this was going to go, end in actual physical violence? He had been expecting something more subtle. Just have to deal with it as it comes.

How straight were they going to play it, he thought looking at them? Were they going to pretend that all was qx to begin with and gradually drive him nuts, give him a fair opportunity to try to bring them back under control and exert leadership, or was it going to be blood and guts from the start?


The command arrangements in a Corellian Navy vessel were very different from those in an Imperial Starfleet ship; on paper anyway, and on a normal ship, anyway. While the Starfleet would have done as well by hiring mushrooms, the crew on a Corellian ship had- in theory- much more access to information.

It went back to the Clone Wars- which Corellia had more or less tried to sit out. There were complex chains of events flowing out of that, political grudges between inteventionist and isolationist senior officers that rumbled on in the navy to the present.

Then there were the aftereffects of the gutting of the Corellian Navy by the Empire after the wars, the long unofficial cold war with Oversector Centre, the tides of pro and anti- Imperial feeling, imitating and rebelling against the example of the Imperial Starfleet- and a high proportion of the time, that rebelling came with the big R.

There would be a proportion of Alliance sympathisers among the crew, probably, it wouldn't be all that unlikely a discipline problem for the Corellian navy to have to deal with...hmm. Plan W might be more viable than previous estimates suggested.


Anyway, they were officially allowed a latitude to think about and question their duties that should have made Black Prince's navigating officer feel at home, but instead made his skin crawl.

They had been talking in the senior wardroom one day, and the subject had come up- it had been Olleyri who had mentioned ramjets. Primitive, magnetic- scoop sublight interstellar drives, sucking in the thin scattering of atoms in deep space and fusing them for thrust- they could manage incredible peak velocities, but they needed a minimum speed to take in enough to run on.

The situation on their ship was like that, he had said; Black Prince was running free, but it had taken a hell of a run-up to get there- and what Brenn saw of the Corellian way so far looked entirely too much like trying to run a ramjet from a standing start.


Their peculiar system worked because they had the runup, the formal, absolute, even brutal discipline of the Imperial fleet to launch from, a track record of success to draw on and draw onward, mould- forge- the crew into a state where they could be trusted to use their own initiative and judgement.

He wasn't even entirely certain if, for the purposes of the exercise, he was a Corellian officer or an actual Imperial on exchange. Either way, their system- it was a way of working that was hopelessly dependent on the common sense and professionalism of those involved.

That didn't make it a bad system. What did, in his opinion, was that they went nowhere near far enough to select for and develop the qualities they needed to make it work. They held their own reputation very high, and took the qualities associated with it for granted.


Looking at the crew, answering his own earlier question, he was going to be dealing with the worst products of that system. The only reason the sim management team would even let him get away from the dock was that lowering the hammer now would result in all the effort spent setting up the later torments going to waste.

He could count at least on the idea that, like a murder mystery, there would be clues in there somewhere. They wouldn't pull something completely out of the blue where no-one could have seen it, they'd leave just enough for him to try to forestall trouble on.

There would of course also be false clues, signs of apparent trouble that went nowhere and did nothing except encourage his paranoia, but there would be- should be- no total curveballs. Of course, this shambles pretending to be a crew were warning enough.


And as he thought the words, they were said. 'Stang! Where's my pallet?' the unfortunate was a supposedly able spacer, and the shipping pallet- a distant descendant of the shipman's sea-chest- with all his personal gear on it was missing.

'It isn't, have you, you haven't seen it? Dreck on a droid, man, there's everything in there! |It must have been left behind- Captain, boss,
dude, can you hold the boat for ten minutes, I got to go search for my gear.'

And on almost any major ship in the Imperial Starfleet, the dozy bastard would just have earned himself a keelhauling. Lengthways. After a moment's consideration of options, Brenn said 'Is there anything in your kit pallet that is security sensitive?'

The spacer looked initially blank, then horrified, then brought it superficially under control in a very bad attempt at po- faced lies. Good acting, Brenn thought, then again the man doing it was really a chief petty officer section leader, and had probably had it tried on him a thousand times.


Brenn glanced around the assembled crew, noticed one man hiding a snicker. 'Am I to infer from your demeanour Leading Spaceman, that you had something to do with this? That you just tried to backstab one of your crewmates by stealing their kit?'

The CPO playing the able spaceman looked thoroughly shocked. They had been keeping a file on Brenn, and this wasn't supposed to be in character for him. He was a technician, a perfectionist, a cold- blooded systems man with all the personnel management abilities of a shiny pebble. He wasn't supposed to be able to spot things like that.

On the other hand, attention to detail was his stock in trade. Flat denial? 'Nothing to do with me sir.'


'Really? Where's your divisional- who's your section leader?' Brenn nearly made the classic large ship mistake, corrected it immediately. The surveillance gear on their ship was worked in two shifts of four, there were six engineers, two shuttle pilots who doubled up as gunners, two lifesystems techs, a ship control mechanician and a leading clerk writer.

Hardly suitable for a divisional setup. The senior chief petty officer engineering should be the effective second, but Brenn doubted he could rely on him. That was it.

'Never mind, you're obviously not in charge if you let this happen. You let your life go missing,’ to the one whose pallet had been abducted, ‘you took it,’ to the one who had been fingered for it, ‘and you failed to supervise them closely enough to prevent this.’ For a second he let himself be lazy and look for a model, thinking, what would Captain Lennart do?


The captain had had a luxury he didn’t have right now; the ability to hire and fire. failing that- something resembling poetic justice. Brenn knew he was here to develop his own style, amongst other things, but there was no shame in copying from success, was there?

‘Congratulations; for stores purposes, the three of you are now one big squishy entity. You will share and live out of the two pallets you still have between you. Shore patrol will find the missing pallet, until then you have first, you have second, and you have third call on it all.’ Victim, failed supervisor and perpetrator in that order.


‘Sir I do not accept this, this is irregular as-‘ the perpetrator objected.

‘Permanent Fleet Instructions volume ten chapter two, paragraph five, wilfully rendering yourself or another spacer incapable for duty, and summary judgement thereof.’ Brenn quoted- from his own service’s manual.

‘Sentencing options range from total bankruptcy as you pay back the cost of everything you took including the pallet, through hard labour, up to being slow roasted to death spreadeagled over a heat exchanger. Do you really want me to deal with this in a regular and official manner?’

‘I’ve served with him before, he’s a whiny little shit, I was trying to get him left behind-‘ the perpetrator unwisely said.

‘There will be proof or not of that, in due course- he might shape up; the question is whether you will. I do have proof that you are a poor comrade, and why are we dealing with this on the dockside? Get on board.’


The crew- the shamble of individuals pretending to be a crew- took stations, which meant there would be four people on the bridge. He didn’t want that; took care to get there first, locked the hatch, took three objects out of his bag. A cactus in a hermetic seal, a datachip, and a DC-15se autocarbine.

That night at the party, he had barely had a chance to say as much as hello, goodbye to the boss, but he had been grabbed by Engineer-Commander Mirannon. That had been an interesting conversation, and a couple of options had come out of it.

The first thing he did was to unseal the cactus and place it by the entrance hatch, on top of a monitor housing. Away from himself for the moment. The second thing was to feed the chip to the nav computer, and the third thing was to send everyone to jump stations, missing gear and all.


None of them were ready; they had felt the simulated clangs and push of the ship undocking, were still reacting to the fact that he was taking it out himself; he gave them as little time as he could. ‘Hyperdrive entry in-‘ and they were away. Less than thirty seconds out of the dock.

The chip contained a set of three- quarters solved equations, with the nav computer instructed to make rough approximations and run with them; just as well this is simulated, he thought- they simply couldn’t reproduce the brief sense of falling from an infinite height the real thing provided.

Still less the sense of tumbling down an infinitely tall slope of broken rocks and scree the almost- botched entry a real ship in their position would have undergone. It damaged suspension of disbelief a little, but not nearly as badly as the real thing.


A ship much larger than a Corvette couldn’t have done that at all. Consider, they had told him at the academy, the concept of a clean cut. Any blade can cut- any drive can produce transition- but for the absolute purity of shape and line, in highly curved space above all, extreme purity of instrument and technique.

As the curvature and complications worsened, the degree of precision approached infinite. On large ships, with people moving and vast amounts of energy sloshing around, that precision became…problematical.

Corvettes were popular, verging on ubiquitous, for a reason. They could risk moves that would tear a larger ship apart- and he was counting on that.


The sim supervisors were slow; had monitored the business on the “dockside”, were still deciding what marks to give him for that segment- not a fail, but not a very high pass either. They really weren’t expecting anything outrageous to happen manoeuvring clear of the station the ship was simulatedly based at.

Entering hyperdrive less than twelve hundred kilometres off the planet and quickly shifting to an absolute stabilisation solution, the equivalent of a slingshot, took them by surprise. Three separate sets of computers were yelling at each other trying to figure out what had happened.

The simulation engine noted- to it’s semi- sentient surprise- that the course was actually survivable; an act of high lunacy obviously, but a barely feasible one. There was no reason to abort, no penalties to assess.


It also noted that there was effectively no possibility of contacting the corvette, that had skimmed off the planet’s gravity well and ricocheted out in an unmeasurable direction; it knew where the corvette was going only at the simulation level, there was no possibility of it being tracked.

The test management computers, automatically assessing the behaviour of the candidate, noted this fact and threw a wobbly about it. The script had just gone completely out of the window. They brought the fact to human attention.

The faculty oversight computer set monitored it all, crossreferenced to Brenn’s file, and had the last word on the subject. By a narrow margin, they decided not to abort the exercise. There may have been some electronic Schadenfreude in that decision; the faculty had spent so long throwing unpredictable situations at people, it would be only fair to see how they coped in turn.


On board the destroyer in orbit, Mirannon had taken a few moments out of his time-and-motion-studied schedule to see how their man was getting on. He had been perfectly prepared to have the last last word on the subject, with the intrusion gear they carried ever since they had finagled a partial conversion to ELINT ship, but it wasn’t necessary.

Their conversation had gone something along the lines of;

‘Fair test my ass, it’s as biased as they can make it, no-one passes qua pass, but it’s the first to break who officially fail; I’m going to be saddled with a crew of deadbeats, renegades and chancers…and you’re thinking the unthinkable again, aren’t you.’

‘Of course;’ Mirannon had said. ‘Why would you be telling me about this unless you wanted me to think about it? I’m going to start by telling you to take your own advice.’


‘Think backwards; assume success then deconstruct it to work out how it was done? Easier theorised than put into practise. Fact is, they’re going to rebel and revolt no matter what, it’s in the script.’ Brenn had said.

‘If it’s written in the rules that you can’t win-‘ Mirannon had said, leaving a pause for Brenn to complete the thought.

‘In real life, “get out of the game” is a surprisingly popular option.’ Brenn had said, sarcastically. ‘Changing the rules is an attractive theory, but what that would do to me in the Imperial Starfleet? Men have been broken for less.’

‘Hm- I reckon you could probably get away with it if you did it with style. And drugs, you will need some help and the thing’s unlikely to be rigged for compensator control- applied chemistry is your next best bet.’

‘Style and drugs, eh? Well, if it goes catastrophically wrong I can always start a new career as a rock star.’


It was a short, unstable, ultra- low energy sprint; for the sake of psychological effect it had to be abrupt, and for practicality it had to be right out on the bleeding edge of performance.

The drive howled in pain- the environment systems were set up for that, there was an idea- but it kept going until the course program he had entered reached a conclusion; as the drive deposited them back in normality and cycled down, the program wiped itself and cascaded down erasing any traces from the drive controls.

Showtime. Remotely, Brenn unlocked the bridge main accessway- they were all there as he had expected, the ship control technician practically foaming at the mouth.


They came in, none of them certain enough to rush him, a few aware of what the starfield behind him meant- they were in deep, empty space, no computation, no path back. Starlost.

In theory it would be perfectly practical to survey the surrounding area, get some idea of where they were, map the curvature of the surrounding space, and hop their way to civilisation- but Brenn was the only man on board, in and out of character, who had a cosmographer-surveyor’s ticket.

He also had a meaningfully heavy automatic weapon pointed at them. ‘Sit down, sit on chairs, on consoles, each other, I don’t greatly care. It’s omnifowl time.’ he said, sounding much more in control than he felt.


His gut was in freefall, in fact, complaining about this. Last chance to back out, he thought, last chance to change your own script- am I doing this because it's a good idea, or because it's completely mad? Is the real motive of this the story it's going to make in the wardroom?

Proving, fulfilling the real objective of this test, that I have a mind of my own by going off at ninety degrees to reality with it? The fleet isn't going to agree. Either of them. The exercise, the Corellian Navy want me to prove that I can command obedience, and I...

'You've probably noticed we're in the outer end of nowhere.' He said to his scratch crew. 'We're out of contact with the fleet; starlost, if you want to be melodramatic about it- I'm the only person on board with anything even vaguely resembling a master surveyor's certification.'

Some of them relaxed at that; weren't supposed to of course, that was bad acting, but this was evidently just a fairly extreme variation of the old 'we're all in this together' gambit. Mutual interdependence. They knew how to play that out.


'Except that I have no intention of using it. I've decided I'd much rather steal the ship.' Brenn deadpanned, and watched a score of jaws drop. He wasn't supposed to throw away the script like this. He hadn't thought he could, but he was warming to the idea.

'This is- this is mutiny!' one of them said, in the manner of a man quoting a movie.

'Technically, it's barratry when an officer goes off the rails; and as if you care. None of you have served your nation well enough to call yourselves patriots anyway.' That was a stinger, thrown out to see who would react to it. Some of them did.


I'm consciously trying to annoy a group of senior noncoms of a rival service, several of whom are much bigger than me; this is mad, he thought. Then again...

There were only a tiny handful of people in the galaxy who took the kind of calculated risks he did routinely in line of duty, or shaved the margins of those risks with such precision. By the standards of most of the rest of the galaxy, I am a dangerous lunatic, he realised.

Well, they certainly don't seem to see it that way. They see the Imperial Starfleet uniform and the Imperial cogwheel, and think that means a typical Imperial- procedural, rule- ridden.

Show leadership, of a crew who look like a bunch of pirates? Well, doing it this way had a certain elegance about it- and if he got it right, he should at least manage to give a few of the staff nervous breakdowns.


'Most of your careers are in the toilet, half of you have your letter in, none of you really want to be here.' Classic old trick; using a few details skimmed out of their personnel files. 'Gorram- you were caught and busted twice for drug dealing; how often weren't you caught? If you're good at not being caught, I can use that.

Buihalia- assaulting a superior officer? You're lucky you're a free man- let's see how far your luck goes. Verthien- you remind me of a gunner I know; proficiencies excellent, pathetically bad at toeing the party line. I can talk, my career's pretty much in the toilet too.

So hijacking the ship and turning pirate actually seems like a sensible option. Burn the fleet regs, we run on frontier rules, standard merchant-venturer terms and shares of the prize.

We're better armed than most merchants, we have a great sensor radius and good legs, we can see trouble coming and evade- or see a prize and chase- far and fast. The freedom of open space, starship's weight in credits to share- who's with me?'

What he was really here to prove, after all, was something owed to himself and his own ship; that under the right circumstances, he knew how to rebel.

[Vehrec]

*jawdrop* DAMN. Now that's flying off the plot without a map or compass. Several points for audacity, and wait here while I consult my records on what exactly the exercise is supposed to test.

[Crazedwraith]

Brenn = Awesome. I really dig this plot line.

[drakensis]

Does Corellia have an official Speak Like a Pirate Day?

If not, they will soon.

[Master_Baerne]

And this is why Black Prince scares the crap out of its superior officers. Such a course of action isn't supposed to be conceivable.

[Simon_Jester]

And this is why Black Prince scares the crap out of its superior officers. Such a course of action isn't supposed to be conceivable.

Yeah. And it's bad enough when the ship is a corvette that's "only" capable of throwing two hundred megatons a second. It's worse when the ship in question is Base Delta Zero-capable... and Black Prince, an Imperator that's aspiring to grow up to be big and strong like her sisters in the Tector class is.

I mean, think about it; Black Prince is a ship that can burn worlds; it dumps more energy on target than the Chicxulub Impact in a single minute of sustained fire. I don't care what kind of government you have; the political and personal reliability of the officers commanding those ships is going to be the number one concern in your mind regardless. If one of them gets twitchy and takes his crew with him he could kill billions before anyone even realizes what's happened.

And Jorian Lennart is a very unpredictable man, whose crew would follow him anywhere. See the problem?

Does Corellia have an official Speak Like a Pirate Day?

If not, they will soon.

Corellia invented Speak Like a Pirate Day; where else would it come from?

[RecklessPrudence]

I have nothing to say that hasn't already been said about how awesome this is, but didn't you say you were having difficulty writing Brenn as distinct from Lennart? I think you've solved that, they're alike in actions, not so much in thoughts.

[Eleventh Century Remnant]

The particularly devious bit about that, of course, is that as a regional force unit Black Prince and the rest of the parent formation, the Eight-hundred and Fifty- First Fleet Destroyer Squadron, have renegade hunting as one of their major missions.

Who watches the watchers, indeed? In practise, a lot of people- most of whom he long since got the hang of working with, or working around.

Also, until relatively recently, Lennart was perfectly capable of passing for a true believer; as an ex politics student he knows how to pretend to walk the party line, and could certainly seem to be, at bottom probably was, a disillusionedly pragmatic Impartial, committed to the Imperial state as the best of the realistically practical options.

Albeit one who, for his own reaons, was dodging promotion and further advancement by spinning a pack of lies to higher command, tailoring his reports to come across as a lucky maniac, worth leaving in place but too unsubtly aggressive, eccentric and unpolitical to be moved up the ladder.

Personnel command (helped by a few old contacts) bought that public face, the more intelligent organs of the state- his own immediate commander and the liaison organs of the Ubiqtorate- he managed to talk into believing his stated reasons for wanting to show that face, and all was good.

Until very recently, he did manage to make himself look satisfactorily reliable. After dealing with a dark jedi, though, the doubts are starting to become more prominent, the new order no longer looks such a good idea. And he has possibly the worst person in the galaxy looking over his shoulder while he tries to make sense of all of this.

And recklessprudence, I hope so, because that was a large part of the point of the scene- get him out on his own, develop him more. If you can see clear space between them, that's a relief because it means it workedl at least a bit.

[Simon_Jester]

I have nothing to say that hasn't already been said about how awesome this is, but didn't you say you were having difficulty writing Brenn as distinct from Lennart? I think you've solved that, they're alike in actions, not so much in thoughts.

This is true; Brenn doesn't have that... what did I call it... "flickering mercurial intellect." At least, not to anything like the same degree, and that's despite Lennart's efforts to cultivate it. There's a hint of a father-son relationship in the dynamic, or at least that's how I read it...

Anyway. I'm glad to see Brenn's viewpoint narrated a bit differently than Lennart's, enough to indicate the difference in mindset.

[LadyTevar]

Oh I love it

[DaZergRock54444]

After having read the original, and having become current on Arc the Second, I state good sir that you are a capable comedian and writer.
Good Show.

[Kartr_Kana]

You broke the Sacred Rule you posted on a popular story and caused the audience to think there was an update when there wasn't one. People burn in hell for less

[Eleventh Century Remnant]

Basically, my schedule has gone completely to hell...trying to convert a temp into a permanent job by working all the hours I can (it's probably not going to work, the situation just smells bad), and running a game thread as well, and the start of the re- enactment season, basically this is over a month late, and made later by embarrassment.

Generally, I think that the longer it takes to write, the less good it is likely to be- if the creative energy's just trickling out, what happens is not of the best, and this reads like a middle chapter in a longer work. It's more or less the first half of Aldrem's trial.



Hull 721 arc 2 ch 17

From the normal judicial perspective, military courts martial procedure looked like something out of a time warp. A trial by tribunal, a panel of senior officers taking the place of judge and jury and explicitly supposed to make their decisions more from the point of view of the good of the service than anything the law might have to say about it.

There was only one legal officer, supposed to advise both sides on technical procedure- a relatively recent change that, and it was one of the gateway posts in the regulatory branch. Do a tour as such, survive, and onward and upward. Too many bad reports, and it was back to commanding a security detail for the rest of their career.

If they were lucky, the prospective rising star got to deal with senior officers who were merely ignorant of the thousands of years deep details of the law; if they were unlucky, they got the half- knowledgeable and actively contemptuous.

And if they were really, spectacularly unlucky, they got to officiate at a butchery of the law and mockery of the process like the one the president of the court had every intention of making happen.


There were usually prosecuting and defending officers, and things there had turned an interesting full circle since the time of the republic. The judge-advocate general corps had suffered greatly during the clone wars and rise of the empire, because back in the old republic they had been powerful indeed.

The technicalities of the law had overridden the exigencies of war pretty thoroughly back then, the legal men had had an enormously disproportionate share in how the navy went about it's business.

“First thing we do, let's kill all the lawyers” hadn't exactly happened during the clone wars, at least not as such- and even then only in one or two places. They had definitely lost standing and status; the rest of the starfleet had seized the opportunity to take responsibility back for keeping their own justice.


The accusing officer didn't have to be present in person, which was just as well considering it would technically have to be Rear- Admiral Thrawn, whose appearance would only have made it even harder to find anyone willing to do this.

It hadn't been easy finding officers willing to serve in any capacity at all anyway; the incident had acquired a notoriety that few wanted to be associated with. Most of the voulnteers that came forward would be doing so for some particular reason, and while ambition might be enough for a few, the rest would be carefully examined.

In view of the absence on other commitments of most of the other senior officers, Ob Wathavrah was responsible for that. As the department head of the accused, his position screening applicants for the post of officer for the prosecution was anomalous- but what wasn't?


He hadn't really decided what he felt about what Aldrem had done- on one hand, the lunatic bastard had shot up his own ship. On the other hand, he had clearly done so very carefully- and Adannan had definitely deserved to be zapped. Even if that wasn't exactly how it had gone down.

On the third hand yet- and there were definitely more hands than that to this business, so elective surgery was still an option- Mirannon and the Skipper still had confidence in him. As the bolt sequence had come in, documents had started unrolling behind Wathavrah's eyes; the list of the regulations Aldrem had just broken.

Strangely, even he hadn't leaped to the obvious conclusion- oh kriff we're going to die. When it came to shooting things, Aldrem was dependable- it was where all his common sense went, that part of his life was absolutely under control; it was elsewhere, in the logic and rationality departments, that all the loose ends were allowed to flap.


Still, Lennart at least thought he didn't deserve to disintegrate for what he had done, although choosing a prosecuting officer to that effect was making his head hurt. Wathavrah was not a natural conspirator, at least no more so than any Imperial naval officer looking for rank and power- and it had been some time since he had actively had to do that.

He was out of practise at backstabbing intrigue, and wondering what kind of training could possibly be appropriate or officially sanctionable, when he realised he was simply daydreaming. Back to the job.

Not as if there was all that much paper to shuffle; there were only four candidates. The duty officer of the Imperial Starfleet sector group- a thin and shadowy organisation mostly devoted to spying on the Corellian Navy; and a clown who had been voluntold from his parent ship in Oversector Centre as a practical joke.

The other two, one was a party loyalist who spouted so much politically correct jargon it was very difficult to tell how intelligent he really was, but whose career trail showed distinct signs of up-and-out; the last was a legal officer, old head, also from Oversector, and his records were just a shade too perfect.


Wathavrah hadn't really believed it until then; he wasn't a simple man- no-one who rose to the heights of departmental command on a ship as large as a destroyer could be- but he shared the occupational disease of most gunnery officers, monomania.

Procedures existed to be followed, all things pointed towards a single end, one goal and one true path, ships existed to serve their guns, and that was basically that, that was the shape of the universe.

He had disliked Adannan, but more because there had been very little to like than any settled ideological reason. He had no solutions to the bigger problem that he didn't think would make it worse; shooting politics to make it go away was why Aldrem was on trial in the first place.

The choice, Wathavrah realised, is between a case-officer, a clown, a cardboard cutout, and a conspirator. No written or in any way recorded instructions, but the hints were clear- the conspirator. Draw them in.

Commander (regulatory branch) Blain Ort turned out to be a heavy man, medium height and almost as wide, jowly, with a face built to frown. As a conspirator, that probably was an advantage; he didn't look like a brilliant manipulator. How he talked, they would see.


The choice of a defending officer from the available candidates was possibly even more difficult. There were only two candidates there- the same party loyalist, and a young up-and-coming legal officer whose efficiency reports were, again, far too good to be true.

Fortunately- for a given value of the term- it had been short circuited by the defendant, who had opted to defend himself. Legally, he had the right to, being an officer- even if very recently and only just- but if he knew anything at all about the law Wathavrah was a mynock's uncle.

Oh, as a turret commander Pel Aldrem was nominally the responsible party, with disciplinary authority over his team, and he had mocked the procedure until it squealed over on Dynamic; but it was essentially the paperwork that had to be gone through to get to shoot people.

Wathavrah had objected, knowing perfectly well that for all the times he had been up in front of one, Aldrem had no real grasp of military court law and procedure, thinking he needed a good technical lawyer in his corner, but the Captain just grinned and said he was sure it would work out.


Lennart had a bigger problem anyway; selecting the four other captains who would make up the court.

He had selected one from the available list he was sure was the Admiral's man, or as close as Thrawn came to having men in the conventional sense; the captain of a destroyer assigned to Oversector Centre, a ship with remarkably high efficiency ratings for the curious dullness of her service record.

In other words, an unregistered spec- ops boat. Captain Tithon Skorb was no great advertisement for the navy, being overweight, but it was the weight of muscle degenerated to fat with too much desk work, ad there was still a lot that sugested 'lean and hungry' about him.

The second candidate for the board was likely to be the conspiracy's man, hailing from a ship whose efficiency ratings made even less sense considering the service she had seen; he was a New Order Party fanatic, which was something of a giveaway considering where most of the conspirators seemed to hail from.

Captain Argines Biral was a walking, talking- Black Prince's command team hesitated to apply the term “thinking”- party meeting, and even Lennart was still trying to figure out the truth, because Biral had to be a truly brilliant dissembler to pretend to be that much of a fool.


He third officer selected for the tribunal was Corellian Navy, and hadn't actually volunteered. He was one of the officers on the management team of the command- qualification course, and about as happy to be there as blackmailed people usually are.

His presence was part of the fallout from Brenn's command course. He had requested to speak with their problem candidate's commanding officer, and Lennart, largely as a relief from sorting out the legalities (by which he really meant tying them into as many knots as possible) had decided to go.

Captain Reym Ostred's office was typical; pictures of groups of people in uniform and pictures of spaceships on the wall. Former commands, graduating classes, ships served on or with. They had no contacts in common- few of Jorian Lennart's childhood friends had gone anywhere near the military.


After going through the usual preamble, Ostred said 'Frankly I wanted to know, officially and unofficially, whether Commander Brenn's actions were in any way sponsored or mandated by yourself?'

It was, inevitably, a trick question. 'You want to know if you can get away with hanging him out to dry, you mean.' Lennart's brain was still bucking against the mound of jargon. 'Technical failure to fulfil the exercise terms?'

'He defected!' Ostred said, forcefully. 'He stole the ship and resigned his responsibility-'

'And you failed to lower the boom on him.' Lennart pointed out. 'Look at the small print- doesn't say which side he's supposed to be on. Failure of staff work on your part.

You wanted to leave him twisting in the wind, didn't you? Uncertain whether to apply Imperial or Corellian methods. Outsmarting yourselves in the process. Besides, doesn't the Corellian fleet do black flag on exercises any more?'


Ostred had been about to query Brenn's not even bothering to ask, but passed on to 'So this was a deliberate provocation?'

'Not nearly as deliberate as what might be about to happen next. No, I didn't put him up to it, but we've served together long enough, I know his logic.' Lennart said, reasonably certain that he did.

'Given the need to take charge of a gang of scruffy, piratical, undisciplined lunatics, with no clearly expressed instructions or directions on how- and if that garbled nonsense is what you call an operations order I'm ashamed to be a native.

Given the total failure of leadership you began with, choosing to take advantage of their inherent qualities'- he changed that at the last moment, from 'following the line of least resistance' to something much less incriminating- 'makes perfect sense. Besides, you haven't caught him yet, have you?'


'What do you mean, total failure of leadership?' Ostred said angrily.

'The worst case scenario you began with. Maybe you don't have the breadth of experience to realise that, but a situation where central command has already screwed up so badly that it's putting together crews and missions like that, with no operational or organisational support, is a situation in cultural or grand- strategic freefall.

When central command hangs it's junior officers out to dry, abandons it's own duty to it's subordinates, more or less explicitly requires of them that they behave as virtual renegades- there are actually some interesting things you could call that apart from a total failure of leadership.' Lennart said, watching his reaction carefully.

'Such as?' Ostred knew he shouldn't ask, but felt compelled to.


'De facto preparation to join the Rebel Alliance.' Lennart said, straightforwardly. He was reasonably sure that, at this level at least, that was not the case; but what the Ubiqtorate and the ISB- well, the task force that was due to be dispatched to plug the gap left by various commando raids- would make of it, well.

'You're crazy! You've lost the plot- this is going too, too far to protect your own man, you cannot seriously believe the Alliance has infiltrated at this level, that it's using the command course as it's own selection tank.' Ostred replied, but not as forcefully as he might have. Hmm.

'Maybe I have, and maybe I am- but do you not think it's just the tiniest bit believable, especially as the local Imperial authorities seem to have been asleep at the switch- or compromised themselves?' Lennart pointed out.

'Besides, that's not nearly as disturbing as what seems to be the groundswell in their favour. He went renegade for exercise purposes, and twenty picked men, from the cream of the Corellian non-commissioned officer corps, followed him.' he added.


'You don't have a formal accusation to make; if you had you would have made it already- is that all this was? A sting operation?' Ostred was clearly trying to decide which side of it he wanted to be on.

'Actually,' Lennart wasn't sure either, 'no, I was mainly just concerned about my man, but I had waited to talk to you until your people gave me some more ammunition to use; check on what's happening with the sim control team.'

Ostred, clearly expecting something disastrous, did; and he was right. 'They've what? Whose idea was that? Don't give me semantics, tell me whose mouth it came out of- Senior Chief? Oh, kriff- why didn't you stop it? No, it is not a good idea to let the other ships hunt him down. How seriously, Code Quasar? Stang.'

'Your exercise crew have just decided to play the part of a rebel privateer.' Lennart wasn't guessing. 'An astonishingly complete part, right down to the ID codes- not looking particularly innocent at the moment, are they?'


'So where's your backup, where are the official investigating teams, where's the law? You're making this up as you go along, aren't you?' Ostred had challenged.

'In answer to your earlier question; if I had ordered Commander Brenn to play the renegade, wouldn't that be proof of his leadership abilities?' Lennart pointed out. 'To convince an entire crew of hardened scum to turn idealist, and in the process I note their efficiency ratings are massively improved?

If on the other hand he was pushing at an open door,' and the suggestibility drugs evaporating out of the cactus Mirannon had given him probably had a lot to do with that, 'then the investigating team ought to be along as soon as they can get organised.'


'This is...' Ostred at last grasped the point of the exercise. 'This is extortion.'

'No, this is a screening move.' Lennart bounced back. 'Is he good enough? Does he pass?'

'I don't trust you.' Ostred said, and quite right too. 'I pass him, or you have the academy disrupted and probed as a potential nest of rebels, right? What's to stop you or the Imperial fleet using that as a weapon against us anyway?'


'Oh, absolutely nothing at all.' Lennart pointed out. 'In fact, this isn't really extortion at all, there isn't an “or” involved. What there is is a very good reason for Commander Brenn to have acted as he did.'

'Wait, wait. He pulled this out of his ass, you as much as- all right, heavily implied it- and you're willing to create a major incident, spark a terrorist hunt, to cover for him? Why?'

'The same reason I sent him in the first place.' Lennart said. 'He's a good man- more able than he realises, actually- and I do lean on him, fairly hard at times; but he deserves better than spending the rest of his career in someone else's shadow, even mine.'

That leap of logic had got Ostred recommended to the court, and he had accepted rather than simply telling Lennart to publish and be damned for tactical reasons- to see what could be dug up on them to redress the balance.


The fifth Commanding Officer appointed to the court was Corellian, by adoption at least. Celdav Ashraul had emigrated from Coruscant to Corellia just before the clone wars had kicked off in earnest, and had been an engager- wanting to commit the Corellian navy to action.

His file was less distinct about which side he wanted to be on. That was potentially very interesting, although some kind of settling of old scores would seem pointless this late in the day.

He had eventually found himself in command of an attack boat squadron, although it was more like a wing dividing down into flotillas, totalling eighty-odd probe, drone and mine layers, gun and torpedo attack craft, as well as a handful of the sensor pickets Brenn had simulated command of.

Ashraul's command was large enough to qualify him as O6 naval captain equivalent, and thus eligible to stand in court martial of an officer; it also gave him the honourary title of deputy chief cat herder. What his game was, they were still trying to work out.


Largely appointing herself as clerk of the court, and praying to a galactic spirit she had never been brought up to believe in for the question “do you know of any improper relationship that would prevent you from functioning as an officer of this court”, was Aleph-3.

She was dressed for the part, spotless black undress uniform, rank pins of a warrant officer, hair tightly tied back, the droids that were going to do most of the actual sound and data capture polished to a gleam.

Unlike the president of the court and the defending officer, she was exactly according to regs. One of which actually did say 'get them looking at you and drooling over you, so they pay as little attention as possible to what you're actually saying and doing.' Seemed to be working, so far.


The officers of the court read themselves in, the short version without the lists of decorations and battle honours, such as they were for some of them- then the defending officer marched in.

For possibly the first time in his career, Pel Aldrem was in full dress uniform, officers' iron- grey, immaculate- it should have been, it was the first time it had been out of vacseal. There were a sextuple row of ribbons on the left hand side.

Three ways to get a bit of ribbon to pin up, decoration- by far the rarest, actually, the drive for conformity inhibiting the recognition of individual merit; to get the likes of an Iridium Star these days, you had to have really earned it. Aldrem had several medals of varying grades.

Participation and qualification were the most common, vastly more so than high awards- even participation ribbons, being part of some definite battle or military act, were rare enough in the absence of wholesale activity by the Alliance. Not everybody involved would have got one, only those who had played a meaningful part. As a turret commander, Aldrem usually did.

More common, the usual way in fact, simply passing some kind of training course, and Aldrem had most of the gunnery ribbons that existed, master marksman with turbolasers, master instructor, at least basic qualifications with everything that lived on any from of mounting.

None of which was as dangerous as the way he walked into the conference room/court. He had his war face on, focused down to the objective, obviously intending to treat this as a military operation. Aleph-3 approved.


The opening move consisted of the defendant's record. Court martials were not supposed to be impartial; the defendant's past record and character very definitely were supposed to be taken into account.

The first part was the airing of Aldrem's awesomely long crime sheet. They could have spent months on it. Everyone other than Lennart's eyes were bugging out as the recital of category one, two and three offences went on.

Lennart himself winced, as he recognised the source of that particular version of the record- the reports Mirhak-Ghulej had been working up. It included offences that had never been brought to his attention- and would have been laughed out of court if they had. Perhaps that was the way to do this, it could be stood on it's head.

It was requiring a high proportion of Aleph-3's self- discipline to keep her calm, and not shoot either Lennart or Aldrem. How had this deviant lunatic managed to rack up so many high grade offences?

How had the captain let him away with it for so long? At a conservative estimate- and she was keeping a running tally- assuming a normal family tree, if anything about Pel Aldrem could be said to be normal, to account for all the jail time and fines they would need to incarcerate the next four generations.


A long, dubious list of charges dropped, overlooked, never pressed, disposed of administratively or given shockingly trivial punishments- he admittedly hadn't been convicted of very many of them, but even so.

On at least three occasions, he had literally got away with murder. And two counts of piracy, one of impersonating a flag officer, eight counts of mutiny, five of incitement to riot, three counts of armed insurrection- according to all that, he should have been dropkicked all the way to Kessel or “transferred to the Alliance” a long time ago.

Ostred was appalled- this was exactly the sort of behaviour he was looking for as a lever, but when brought eyeball to eyeball with it- how could anyone who let one of their men grow a record like this talk about order and conformity with a straight face?


'Lieutenant, you are in fact a naval officer, not an Imperial Intelligence agent- provocateur? You are not secretly employed to test legal systems to destruction?' Ostred asked, sounding as if he seriously believed the answer could be yes.

'No, Sir, although that does sound like a dream assignment, especially if it could be made retroactive.' Aldrem said. 'Most of those charges are administrative- just technical breaches of the law. I'm fairly certain I've never actually led an armed revolt.'

'The dockworkers' strike on Phthal?' Lennart reminded him.

'Oh.' Aldrem recalled. 'Well, Sir, they were proved right in the end, the tribunal did come down in their favour, so it was only temporarily an actual illegal asembly.'


The prosecuting officer stood a good chance of committing suicide through apoplexy before this business was over. 'This man is a legal menace, a career criminal in uniform! He's utterly unworthy of being part of the New Order, he's-'

Good, over-react, Lennart thought, keep making yourself look like a loon; but some of that must have showed in his face, because the prosecuting officer brought himself to a stop, and composed himself before carrying on.

Quite a good actor, Lennart noted. He's got the injured- innocence thing down pat, as well as apparently genuine horror at being forced to deal with the deviant.

The prosecutor said 'The defendant's survival in uniform is on the face of it inexplicable, which means it requires a more detailed explanation. Any one of a hundred charges should have been a permanent stain on this man's career.'


That was the cue for the second part of the presentation, and it began with rock opera; a holoprojection of laser bolts flying everywhere- some that made the Imperial expat, Ashraul, duck- accompanied by a pounding hard rock soundtrack- flash, bang, whizz, building to a crescendo and ending in an explosion that left behind a mass of twisted wreckage in the shape of the words “Pel Aldrem's Greatest Hits”.

'Gentlemen, when we are finished here I may have some more work for you, starting with the public affairs department.' Lennart said, dryly, noting that it obviously wasn't Aldrem's idea, he was groaning. 'Run the rest of it.'

The actual footage lived up to the title, strangely enough; the edited highlights of thousands of hours worth of exercise and hundreds of combat tactical- targeting data, and for the members of the court who understood gunnery- Ostred, Biral; for someone who was supposed to be a desk jockey, he was taking a keen and informed interest.

Skorb, the spec-ops man, strangely, wasn't. He couldn't possibly have seen it all already; was he unimpressed because he didn't know what was and wasn't possible, because he expected nothing but the best, or did he genuinely not know enough? That didn't seem to make sense.


The prosecuting officer went out to bat again, back in loon mode. 'This is graphics- it can't possibly be real, that's well within the standard dispersal of the weapon, is it seriously intended that the court believe a grade-omega disruptive influence achieved this?'

Lennart headed him off. 'Let the transcript show,' he instructed the clerk of the court, 'that the prosecuting officer was unable to comprehend the defendant's record. Defending officer, do you have anything to add?'

Aldrem thought of and wisely disregarded the first thing that came to mind- a smartass quip about requesting an equal- rights unbeliever- said 'It all goes together, Sir, for better or worse, all of a piece.'

'Are you suggesting, lieutenant, that two are causally connected? That you are a first- rate shot precisely because you are a major discipline problem?' Ostred said, trying to get a feel for the thinking involved.


Aldrem managed not to fall directly into the trap, but he was still too honest for his own good; 'Actually looking at it all laid out like this, one thing after another, it's basically embarrassing.

I mean, I could understand someone who's had a lousy war, hasn't achieved anything at all,' and he was looking at the two quiet men of the court so far, Biral and Skorb, when he said that, 'getting crazed and frustrated enough to go off the rails, but this just makes me look like a spoilt brat.

And a bad example. I mean, it's not as if I've got the figure to call myself a prima donna.'


Aleph- tried hard not to laugh at that- she did have the figure for it- and the prosecutor's basic lack of sense of humour showed through again. 'So you admit that your record brands you as a habitual criminal.' It wasn't a question.

'Unlike you I'm not going to attempt to deny the official record, it's all there on file- but no, I reject that implication.' Aldrem looked almost as if he was confused by his own crime sheet. 'I don't break the rules just for the fun of breaking the rules, most of those charges came out of a few incidents that seemed like good ideas at the time.'

Lennart tried not to show it, but he was thinking dreck, that's a feedline if ever I heard one; expecting the prosecutor to say “just like this occasion?” and go down that route.


Instead he chased a nonexistent hare, 'what has been omitted from this list? There are very few minor offences, have the rest simply been omitted for reasons of brevity? Where is the undergrowth in this list.'

'This is it.' Aldrem said, with far too much helpfulness for his own good. 'There are a few cases like the second from last where a sequence of minor offences compounded up to one or two big ones.'

'Perverting the course of justice, assaulting a superior officer and sedition are not minor offences.' The prosecutor said.

Aldrem was about to reply, but Lennart said 'I am not unaware of the true story behind that sequence of incidents. Describe what actually happened, in your own words.'


Aldrem thought about refusing, on the grounds of self- incrimination, but remembered that there was no such thing in a military court, you could be ordered to testify, and if necessary against yourself. 'Well, Sir, I had a bet with Dynamic's dorsal- mid divisional officer...'

The tale came out, the prosecutor at several points seriously thinking about banging his shoe on the table, and having to be warned to behave with more dignity.

'I have here the efficiency reports from Dynamic, and I enter them into evidence.' Lennart said, doing so. A set of charts and tables flashed up in the holotank, revealing that Dynamic's efficiency had risen sharply during the experience. 'There seems to be a method underlying your madness, and I wonder if you are aware what it is.'

'Sir?' Aldrem said, confused, before he thought of something. 'Do what seems right, and damn the consequences.'


That made a good beginning, and Lennart definitely intended the trial to have a middle and an end. It would take several days, even for a legal process this abbreviated.

They were, however, going to be extremely long days. Lennart intended seventeen hour sessions, with breaks but even so, for three reasons; to get the mess sorted out as quickly as possible and allow the officers of the court to return to their duties, was the official version.

The real and unofficial reasons were first, Lennart was sure that his people, that including Aldrem, could hold together better under stress- that the officers of the court and the prosecutor would start making more and more serious mistakes, sooner.

Second, that punishing schedule would make it more difficult for the conspirator to report, and more predictable and accessible to monitor.

[Kartr_Kana]

It LIVES!!!

This chapter was actually pretty good in my opinion. Flowed better then some of the previous ones and it was much easier to understand who was thinking what. I also like the fact that the Black Prince's crew is getting called on the carpet. They're not your usual fanboi creation that does insanely amazing jobs and breaks a thousand rules and get away with it. Adds to the believability of it IMO.

Keep up the good work!

[Simon_Jester]

Seconded, and I wish you more luck than you expect to have with nailing down that job.

It does seem a bit... cleaner, if you will, than your usual work. The viewpoints aren't mingled quite so much, the paragraph breaks are more graceful, that sort of thing.

[Crazedwraith]

Good stuff, This trial scene is actually readable. Which is a great accomplishment as far as I'm concerned.

[Vianca]

It's good, so no worries.
We don't care that it takes you longer to write, as long as your still writing.

Will Brenn get a Strike Cruiser to command?
It would realy anoy Lennart, untill he can spin paper work to make it Black Prince her private escort.

[Eleventh Century Remnant]

Last part of ch17; Raesene, apologies in advance, I'm not sure I got your "character" right, but-

As he passed through the Alliance's system, Commander Raesene was rapidly losing faith in both sides. If this half- assed effort was all it took to evade Imperial scrutiny, then the “invisible war” was obviously hiding out of shame.

He had been smuggled out of a major naval base, after blowing up his own office and a dozen ISB goons, and it had been almost trivially easy.

He knew he wasn't that good an actor, but this was just ridiculous. He had been passed through starport security as a new hire on the tramp freighter they seemed to be using- that being suspicious in itself.

All he actually had to do was not panic, and repeat the false details they had given him, which for someone used to fleet bureaucracy was trivial. In fact, that was exactly what it was like- a form-filling exercise, no real scrutiny.

He should have been happy about that, but he wasn't- he had the gut feeling that it was just too easy. Of course, he was supposed to get away, but if this was any easier it would actually start to look that way.


The Alliance people- smuggling team that were transporting him didn't seem to question it either, and he had to continually remind himself that he was supposed to be happy with this state of things, instead of wanting to bang both sides' heads together and tell them to sharpen up.

Actually, more like the other way around for the crew of the YT. They were supposedly ex- military, pilot, flight engineer, navigator, gunner, loadmaster- but that in itself shouyld have been a giveaway.

If they were intercepted, any half- awake customs officer would have them dead to rights- but they weren't. They zig-zagged their way to the Rebel base, and for the first time he was impressed.


It seemed to be a derelict mining station in close companion orbit of a long- period comet, so far out that it was difficult to tell which it's parent star was; at least a hundred million years on it's orbit, better than half a light year out. That was the first thing he saw them get right.

There were other ships- it was a fairly large, and evidently fairly important facility; none of force, though, transports and corvettes- a hunter squadron could dismember it nicely, if they ever became aware that it was there- and if they weren't, how was he ever supposed to report?

Better square yourself away in character, he thought, I might be playing this part for a long, long time...

The YT drifted in without apparent security checks, which after a moment's thought Raesene realised made prefect sense. Isolation was their security here, if they spotted a ship they knew it was all good, anyone at all unfamiliar was trouble.

The largest hole in the system would be people like him, wolves in sheep's clothing- Imperial agents aboard a Rebel ship. Or for that matter a concealed bomb of sufficient size. Now there was a worrying thought, but what to do about it?


The light freighter made it in to the dock without detonating, which probably had nothing to do with his surreptitiously trying to feel if any of the deck plates were ticking, and came to rest in a hangar bay clearly designed for ore transports- cavernous.

Wierdly, 'down' seemed to be in the direction of all five closed sides of the bay; there were rounded corners between and ships parked on all of them, and a local voulnteer force fighter squadron.

They would be a difficult customer, they were flying Clone War era Eta-2 Actis. Probably had no booster rings for them, or they'd be out making trouble all across the sector- come to think of it the craft had probably come from Ord Corban in the first place.


There were also a squad of Alliance ground force troopers there to meet him. They were gentler than Imperial troops would have been- which was to set a very low bar, but they managed to judge the difference between “welcome, new friend and ally” and “We're watching you, you dubious bastard” just right. They couldn't be raw, had to be be veterans rotated back to a softer duty.

They took his baggage- well, kitbag- which he didn't like, tried to crack a joke about airport security, but essentially it was reasonable enough. Then they escorted him to a small interior room with a desk and three beings on the other side of it.

None of them were known to him, which was just as well, but he recognised them all by type. One, clearly, was going to play the line soldier; tall, black- haired, twitchy starfighter officer, apparently a squadron leader.

He would probably suspicious and contemptuous of the defector at first, but might gradually come round. He was also probably shaper than he looked.


The other two were more obviously from the intelligence game, and one was a Bothan; good, the Imperial commander thought, somebody I can dislike. He despised essentially the entire species, for what he considered to be the sufficient reason that every one of them he had met was devious, manipulative, conniving, untrustworthy, back- stabbing scum.

There had been a surprising amount of them in bureaucratic positions throughout the Republic, and the Empire had inherited them and inexplicably failed to curb their tendencies to sell anything they could to the highest bidder.

Most aliens he didn't have a problem with, and blaming an entire race was clumsy and stupid, but the Bothans were one case where he reckoned the non-huMan policy of the new order actually had a good point.


The other was a near- human, a dark orange skinned female with iron- grey hair in ground forces fatigues, and one of those two would be the spy, responsible for taking what information he gave them and confirming and running with it, and the other a security officer responsible for making sure he wasn't spinning them a line of complete drivel.

Which? Well, he hoped the Alliance had enough on the ball not to let a Bothan be a security officer. Although if he was, the possibilities of corruption...This was it, then, the job he had been sent to do.

Which was looking less simple by the moment. Get these people to investigate an internal threat against the Empire, was the mission. Except the threat was directly against the Emperor, and he was still trying to work out where he stood on that.

Should he be indignant? No, as a (relatively) senior officer used to dealing with bureaucracy and protocol, he should know better than that- it would be obvious it was an act. His temper was short, best to control it. Mostly, anyway.


'Well, we might as well get on with it. Which of you wants to know what?' he began with, as an opening bid.

The Bothan, who would have been unfit for his job indeed if he hadn't picked up on the dirty look Raesene had given him, said 'We will tell you what it is we need from you, defector.' Was there a slight pause in there between “defect” and “or”?

Well, if he was going to be unprofessional about it...'I should have known better than to expect one of your kind to be more than a move ahead. Unless you're honest, you're just going to ask me to confirm your current pet theories and prejudices.

All right, honest may be an exaggeration. Professional integrity should be enough, although it might still be too much to expect.' Raesene said acidly, moving to part f of the plan, play them against each other. Too soon, but-


'Have you some reason to dislike Bothans?' the starfighter officer asked.

'Yes. A base quartermaster I had to deal with on my last pre- command tour as of the breed, and he was blood relations with most of the civil contractors and bosom buddies- actually had bought off- most of the inspectorate.

He wasn't just running a scam or two, he was taking the system for practically industrial quantities of money- near enough outright sabotage. I had to paperchase through the system to find enough evidence to grill him on, which is what brought me to the attention of the ISB in the first place.' Raesene said angrily. He was embellishing a little- but not much.

He had crossed the line himself a few times, strictly speaking, doing that- one of the things that had given them enough leverage to make him an offer he couldn't refuse.


'You had him fully investigated?' The Bothan asked.

'I did, but then the whiteshirts took over and grilled him properly. Suspended him on a metal grid over an open flame.' Raesene tried not to sound as if he was deliberately provoking the Bothan- and in truth it had been stomach- churningly uncomfortable to watch, and worse to smell.

He had wanted something to happen, an arrest and a trial and a cleaning out of the corrupt, but there was an enormous gap between the harsh but legal proceedings he had in mind and that sadism masquerading as policework.

The Bothan lost it anyway, and the near- human had to stop him clambering over the table to try to rip the Imperial commander's face off.


The starfighter officer asked him, while he was distracted and backing away, 'If that's how you feel about traitors, why are you here?'

'Who betrayed who?' Raesene asked, reflexively but fortunately falling into the right answer. That sounded true, precisely because it was rushed.

He went on 'If you've been properly briefed for this at all, you should have what files the Alliance has on me, likely- considering the recent past probably- a copy of my Imperial personnel jacket, which amongst other things should tell you how long I spent on your side of the table. You should also have had forwarded what my stated reasons for joining the Alliance are.'


Dammit, that was a mistake, he realised the second the words were out of his mouth, and the near- human, who had more or less finished calming the Bothan down, said 'Interesting you should put it like that- what were your unstated reasons?'

Crap, he thought, hold it together. 'You mean the disreputable ones I didn't think would get my foot in the door? Thwarted career, jealousy, personal hatreds, like that?' A deflection of sorts, could have been worse.

'Aren't you prepared to at the least take advantage? No, better yet, why don't you think that being dumped on by the system is good enough grounds to defect? You accept people- peoples- who are perfectly happy playing both sides against the middle, after all.'


'The Alliance is committed to recognising and operating the culture and opportunity laws of the old Republic,' the pilot reminded him, 'and you should know better than to wind up your interview team.'

Time to start playing along, the Imperial Starfleet commander reminded himself. He sat back down and said 'I know that in theory, my head agrees with the principle, but I just have very little gut reason to like Bothans, or most humans come to that.'

'We are looking for people who believe; who have hope and faith in a better galaxy that was, and will be again. Gloomy, disgruntled misanthropes are seldom an asset to freedom and liberation.' the near human said, with tones of political correctness.

'Most of the Imperial line of battle at the moment is made up of fanatic careerists or gloomy, disgruntled misanthropes- you might be trying to appeal to the wrong demographic.' Raesene pointed out, .

'Besides- better than how bad things are now, with fratricide a way of life among the higher echelons, or as bad as they could get? That incident, I found out a lot about the true workings of the Empire, about the forces moving behind the scenes- that's not what we're supposed to be fighting for. I couldn't go on knowing that the system was corrupt to the core, even cynicism has it's limits.'


'Others manage to. Jorian Lennart, for instance.' the near- human said, winding him up in his turn.

Why does everything have to be about him? Raesene grumbled, mainly to himself. 'I can't answer for him. I'm not sure anyone can answer for him, I'm not even sure that he can.

He was the commander of the ad hoc squadron that broke the rebel base on Ord Corban, yes. He did most of the investigative work that we who had been there for years should have had the guts, and the wits, to face up to.'

I think I got that about right, Raesene thought, injured pride adding to the mix of motives- although, doesn't it? Truth be told- although to them it mustn't, no more than is strictly useful- I was doing something that I knew at the time to be wrong and shameful. And got caught.

That stung most of all, being publicly exposed in error, and of course he chose to rub my nose in it. Being appointed security liaison was in it's own way an act of brilliance- although I doubt, he thought, that Lennart intended or expected anything like this. 'Why do you ask?'


'We'll get on to that later.' the pilot said, and the still- fuming Bothan rejoined the conversation.

'We know of you from other sources. Consistently loyal to central authority, in three separate Imperial-on-Imperial clashes. Backed an agency of central authority against a fringe element of the fleet. You have a long history of not joining the Alliance.'

'Maybe I didn't move, maybe the Empire moved away from me. I saw the very highest echelons behave as if we were nothing more than pawns and puppets.' he bounced back.

'What is is that you want?' the near- human asked, and it was a good question. A shift of tactics back to the basic and primal, not that Raesene thought of that in enough time to matter.

'An end to masks.' He said. 'An end to this lying, shuffling, drivelling security banthashit, I want to turn and blow those shadowy backstairs bastards wide open.' He had probably said too much, it was entirely too close to the truth.

It was also, accidentally, probably the best thing he could have said.


The interview went on, and at the end of it the three officers of the panel sat down to discuss him. 'What did you think?'

'The information he brought is too important not to be followed up.' the near- human security officer said. 'The man himself-'

'He's an unreconstructed fascist bigot, he's an Imperial to the core.' the bothan spy objected.

'And worse, he's realistic enough to be perfectly aware of that. He wouldn't be here if the Empire had left him his illusions, he as much as admitted it himself. Not a natural rebel.' the fighter pilot pointed out.

'Yes, but would he fight for the Alliance?' the near- human asked.

'He would fight for the Republic.' the fighter pilot decided. 'for the Rebellion, I'm not so sure. Further interviews, further observation. And let's see what that paper trail shows up.'

[Simon_Jester]

So, to make sure I'm clear:

Raesene, the small-ship commander from the previous arc, got sent to work as a liaison for the... IBI? Something like that. Now Lennart has tasked him to fake-defect to the Rebels to get them to investigate the plot against the Emperor that Adannan was part of. Right?

[LadyTevar]

You got it, Simon.

[Vianca]

Lol, and another chapter to the mix.
You might want to consider Raesene stating something along the lines of Lennart and his chief engineer ain't finished with modding that ship of theirs, when they ask again about Lennart his pro-Imp stance, Remnant.

[Eleventh Century Remnant]

I know, sorry about the delay, but the show season is coming to a close so I should have more time to get back to a decent pace over the winter.
I know roughly what state Black Prince is going to be in when the clock runs out over Endor, and it's not far off how she emerges from this major refit, plus or minus what needs to be changed of that as a result of the shakedown cruise. Anyway,


Hull 721 arc 2 ch 18

The second day of the trial went well, all things considered.

It was obvious by eight in the morning- they had stated at six- that most of the uncommitteds had started to smell a mynock. Lennart had allowed Aldrem to advance the edges of his primary defence, 'warning him off' from it so successfully that the other members of the court wanted to know more.

'Is that strictly relevant?' he had begun with, followed by 'How much credence should we place on your stated objectives? As defending officer you are admittedly in an extremely good position to know what your client thought he was doing, but...'

They sniffed around the issue for a few more minutes, scenting a trap and not wanting to go straight in, but eventually the bait was too much. After probing round- and Aldrem was giving a good if slightly tetchy account of himself- they accepted it should be entered in evidence.


That led to more interesting shouting, the Coruscanti expatriate Ashraul wanted to know, Lennart suspected he was actually getting into this, might even be vaguely interested in the truth. The actual native Corellian, Ostred, had thought a move ahead and was starting to feel the politics; he desperately wanted not to know.

The official special- operations merchant, the ex- muscleman Skorb, Lennart didn't like. He and Aldrem had clashed more than once on day one, and Lennart suspected the core worlder modelled his command style on Vader-brutal, ruthless and intimidatory.

It worked for the dark lord because, all other factors aside, he really was that good- he had a record that could command obedience anyway. It looked as if he was an unthinking, unsubtle pounder, but not when you examined the results of Oversector Centre's fleet exercises in detail.

He did occasionally lose, but when he did it was usually on the first encounter with someone new, he hadn't yet got the measure of; that was how Piett had become his flag captain. In fact, Thrawn was pretty much the only flag officer to have any real success against him, he had won six of their encounters. Out of seventeen.


The evidence was that Vader was a tactical genius, and one of an entirely different order- it seemed to come entirely from the nerves, what of them there was left; he could glance at a situation, get through the observe-orient-decide portions of the OODA loop, and be moving before most people finished saying “let me see what's going on here...”

Lord Vader was widely thought to be an unthinking brutalist because he actually thought so fast, the process was over before most people noticed it. His speed of decision was incredible, and that was what made him a leader; his personal style was just...unfortunate. But it was the style that the new breed were trying to emulate.

Apart from that, Skorb made Lennart feel old. This was the even newer breed; the wartime Imperial. The stuffy, formal, precise and correct peacetime Imperial had been bad enough, the wartime late-Republic were all right...and Lennart had actually sneaked in the generation before that, getting his commission in the peacetime republic fleet just before things went to stang.

Come to think of it, and bearing “ye shall know the lion by his claw” in mind, some of Vader's actual manoeuvres reminded Lennart of nothing quite so much as pieces from the playbook of the Open Circle Fleet- although that was definitely a constitutional crisis for another time.


Certainly Vader would never have been clumsy enough to provoke, or tolerate, Skorb's clashes with Aldrem. He must have asked 'How can you possibly know that?' fifty times in the course of the day, and got shorter and shorter answers, even provoking Aldrem to resort to common sense- a mistake in a courtroom- out of exasperation.

On being asked, for approximately the fifty-first time, Aldrem had snapped back 'Genus Homo, subgenus Sapiens.'

'I don't understand, what do you mean?' Skorb had stated. It didn't click in his brain at all, as far as he was concerned Aldrem had just spouted a complete non sequitur.

Might have been better if he had. 'That anyone with senses and a functioning brain, kriffit any sentient life form, could tell. Which raises questions about why you can't.' Aldrem said, realising half a second later he had maybe gone too far.


Skorb was not slow to realise he had been insulted- maybe he was like a child, could understand tone but not words. 'Lieutenant, you are out of order, I demand that- the defending officer is in contempt of court.'

'That's the president of the court's decision- and you have a superficial point, but roll holo, evidence items H1 and H4.' The president instructed the clerk of the court; Adannan boarding Dynamic and Black Prince. The moments when he definitely had been trying to look dominant and dark.

'And? He's just establishing his authority, that doesn't make him evil.' Skorb said, not entirely convincing, not even himself.

'Two slaves, an invoulntary cyborg, a gang of thugs and a red- bladed lightsabre?' Aldrem said. The footage was actually new to him too, he had only had the situation described, and later met some of the participants.

'If intimidation, abduction, slavery, mutilation, murder and the open worship of the bad side of the Force don't qualify him as evil, what the kriff do you think does?' Aldrem lost his temper.


'Lord Vader carries a red lightsabre...' Captain Biral said, hesitantly. He had lost the plot early on the first day; the ultra- doctrinaire, and leading candidate as the conspiracy's plant, this had all quickly got far too strange for him. He looked like a psychiatrist at the mad hatter's tea party.

He really sounded as if he was trying not to follow that thought to it's obvious conclusion. Lennart agreed. 'I do not think it would be wise,' he said, 'to have it on the official records of the court that we consider Imperial Executor Lord Darth Vader to be a force for evil.'

Skorb wanted to query that, but for a moment was so boggled that he could not think of a way to do so casually and intelligently; instead he said, two seconds too late for it to look natural, 'How so?'

'Amazing.' Ashraul growled at him. 'A medical miracle; a verifiable case of adult onset anencephaly. Are you really so devoid of wit that you can't grasp the likely consequences?'


'If you cannot take comments in context and understand that I am querying the automatic characterisation of red lightsabres as evil, and for that deliberate failure of courtesy to a brother officer, we may have to have another court- martial when this is done.' Skorb recovered, and snapped back.

'Order, both of you.' Lennart said, in much the same tone as he had used on an auditorium full of naval cadets. 'Captain Skorb, you certainly seem to be forgetting Fleet Tactics 201 and 301; do you not recall how much of the late Republic fleet's hot-war doctrine was inherited from the War of the Ruusan Reformation, and what the sides in that conflict were?'

'That was a thousand years ago.' Biral pointed out, sounding dazed.

'Is it really the raw time that matters, or is it the amount by which things have changed?' Lennart asked rhetorically. 'And up to the start of our war, not that much really had.'

'Clerk of the court,' he ordered Aleph-3, 'having established that most of the members of the court do not possess a death wish- no, strike everything after “gang of thugs” from the record as an irrelevant digression.' She would- from the public record, at least. Skorb and Ostred were thinking hard about the details of the light and darkness war, and not liking what was coming to mind.


Things did sort of become tangential after that, Skorb- after a few more barbs from the defending officer- largely pulling his horns in. He wasn't that stupid, he just couldn't get up enough momentum for a coherent train of thought.

Ashraul was starting to look like a masochist, wanting to know more; it was him who re-opened the dark side issue, asking 'Are we seriously suggesting that this being was a sith?' he sounded as if he was.

Biral, surprisingly, and sounding as if he was the most surprised of all, said 'If it looks like a rancor, shambles like a rancor and growls like a rancor...' It was where the logic was leading him, and he didn't want to go. Ordinary doublethink wasn't enough to keep that idea out.

Then at the very least it may be a claw- fetishist in a rancor suit, Lennart only barely managed not to say. It was dangerously soon for that to come up; he had a definite idea now, and if that argument happened much later it would be better but it didn't look as if that was going to happen.


'So what was he doing in the Imperial hierarchy?' Ashraul said.

'Being a Special Assistant to the Privy Councillor. A position which he held quite legitimately, by all permissible tests; and as you know perfectly well, there is a certain amount of pomp and circumstance and intimidatory show positively required of anyone who holds that kind of rank, especially in the fleet.' Lennart said.

He had conned his ship through at least one encounter in bathrobe and fluffy slippers, Aleph-3 knew it perfectly well and wished he hadn't, and could not possibly mean that seriously, she thought.

'So you're suggesting that this show of force really doesn't deserve the interpretation the defending officer is placing on it?' Skorb said.

'You're looking for a definitive opinion from the bench?' Lennart said, coldly. 'Insofar as any of us have a right to pre- judgement, consider how the normal flourish of authority differs- or fails to differ- from this.'

'You mean that-'

'As anyone who's done the outer rim knows, we frequently are mistaken for the forces of darkness.' Lennart stated, or rather understated. 'A genuine force of darkness might find relatively little difficulty in blending in.'


That went on and was argued over for a little, Lennart blithely ignoring the glances he was getting from the recorder of the court who knew at least as much of the truth as he did, but who was strangely slow in following the thrust of this. She doesn't know which way I'm going to jump, he realised. I must be better at this than I thought.

Ashraul basically summed it up by saying 'So it's all political, then.'

Lennart nodded; Biral, who had started to fear for his own life and career, said 'And how do we stand if we get it wrong- if we chose the wrong answer and annoy the wrong people?'

Lennart thought about that for a second, thought about his own gut reaction- which was “you're a naval officer. You have a ship. It has guns on it. Do the math.” Wouldn't saying that out loud just be even more of a disaster?


'The conspiracy he was taking part in is still alleged and unproven, yes? I see no other clear way out of this than to simply try the crime as it occurred, without fear or favour.' Ostred, the serving native Corellian, tried to draw a bottom line.

'You mean, pretend ignorance of the politics?' Skorb said. Which he had been doing so quite successfully, so far. 'Go through the process like mindless little bean- counters, cross referencing every detail, and then bet our lives on our own stupidity, playing dumb when anyone comes to ask?

First of all the president of the court seems determined to avoid that, second the defendant's entire defence centres around the idea that it was a righteous shoot, and lastly we are supposed to be mature, responsible officers who are supposed to have a grasp on the politics.' Which said a lot.

'And your way out of this dilemma was to try to make me look like a dangerous, undisciplined loon, the sort of idiot who might perpetuate a blue on blue out of sheer misjudgement.' Aldrem snapped back.

'Was it hard?' Skorb said, captain to lieutenant.


'You're basically talking about passing judgement on the deceased rather than the accused.' Biral pointed out.

'Which is why you wanted two Corellian officers.' Ostred said to Lennart. 'To prevent it looking as if the Starfleet was simply closing ranks to defend one of it's own.'

'I would have an entire crew of outsiders, if I could get them;' Lennart said, not entirely truthfully. 'I did invite Commanders Solo and Skywalker under a promise of safe conduct, to be members of the tribunal, but they declined to reply.'

That was a joke too far, Lennart realised after it had left his mouth, but it was too late to take it back. It was a shade too close to the truth, for a start.

'I would like to know how this looks to an outsider, but in a matter of this sweeping importance- if true- who is an outsider? Whose judgement would be genuinely impartial?' Lennart said, knowing that sounded like an invitation to impartiality and intending to spin it later.


'I've lost track of the point of this.' Ashraul said. 'I thought we were supposed to be trying Lieutenant Aldrem for his crime?'

'No, it was always about deciding whether what he did was a crime or not. There's no doubt that he did it; no-one else who could have was in a position to do so. The politics were always what this was about.' Lennart said.

Aldrem looked grumpy at the thought that there was anyone else who could have made that shot, then he ran down the list and thought; ah, Commander Wathavrah.

Skorb looked much worse. 'I resign from the court.' he said, standing up and turning to leave, the rest of Omega-Blue- 6 and 17 standing guard deterring him not a bit. 'and I advise you all to do the same. This is a political judgement beyond our competence.'

Well, I could switch from that straight into plan three, mistrial, Lennart thought; but it might be worth the gamble...'Congratulations.' he said. 'You've managed to find a worse alternative than any of the options I was looking at, a true lose-lose solution.'

'How so?' Skorb challenged.


'An officer of the state refusing to defend it? What from and in which direction would hardly matter after that, would it. A responsible official refusing to exercise responsibility- you'd be certain to offend both High Contending Parties.' Lennart pointed out.

'Besides, after a display of first- rate dithering like that, you'd be lucky to keep your head, never mind job, rank and station. It's too late, might have been caution on day one, but not by now. Anyone else feel enamoured of the certainty of suicide?'

Aleph-3 looked pointedly at where his hip would be, where his lightsabre should have been. Remember it, think about it, wave it around? He ignored it for the time being.

'The alternatives don't seem all that brilliant.' Skorb pointed out. 'On one hand, stand and declare that he is an evil traitor to the Empire for exploding a hand- picked agent of the ruling council, or that he may have helped save the Empire by killing a high- level rogue and would- be regicide?'


'Why are we taking this seriously at all?' Biral exploded. He had backed too far into the metaphorical corner and had to say something. 'He did it. There is no question and no doubt that the defendant blew up a superior officer, on his own judgement, without explicit orders to do so.'

'Legal officer,' Lennart asked, not because he couldn't remember the man's name but because he thought the poor sod who had got the job would prefer to remain as anonymous as possible, 'how do the precedents stand? What usually happens to people who rebel against the orders of a rebel superior?'

Commander Ort looked as if he was seriously contemplating gnawing his own arm off in order to escape. 'The usual test case is that of Komatta versus the State; a rear- admiral escort fleet commander ordered by Vice- Admiral Adri to secure and defend the supply depot they were operating out of.

Komatta refused- and was subsequently tried and found guilty of disobeying a lawful order.'


'So,' Lennart said skeptically, 'would you say that it runs on mens rea? That to disobey an order from a renegade superior still counts as disobedience- but if you loyally obey a renegade boss, even if the order you follow later turns out to have had anti- Imperial purpose behind it, you're safe?'

'The precedents are not entirely clear. The State versus Trachta et al, for example-'

'In other words, if what you do in good faith is damaging enough to the Empire anyway, you can still be brought to trial as a rebel for it.' Lennart pointed out. 'Innocence is no defence, is it?'


'I wouldn't go that far-'

'In fact, whether someone is tried for it or not has precisely bugger all to do with the actual offence, doesn't it? It depends entirely on whether or not any higher echelons can be bothered to prosecute.

Obeying your conscience isn't an option, we all know that, but what is the situation if you have grounds to- well, may actually state it like it was, know the superior officer in question to be guilty of crimes against the Empire, but have no orders on the subject?'

Aldrem decided to defend himself rather than simply let the president of the court do it for him. 'I considered the situation came under the standing orders to engage enemies of the Empire.'


Lennart thought about it, and said 'That argument can't stand, mainly because it makes fratricide just too easy. As a general principle it would be damned dangerous to establish, even if it were possible...think who would be in charge of executing it.

This is a specific case, I do not intend to poke holes in the general principle that you don't shoot at people on the same side.'

'Which Kor Alric Adannan officially was.' Skorb pointed out. 'There is no evidence, not courtroom evidence, to the contrary, only an ugly look and a vague suspicion.'

'Apart form his confession, of course.' Lennart said, apparently offhand. Of course, it got everyone's attention, it was deliberate melodrama intended to.

Aldrem, to his credit- and possibly the saving of his life- managed not to look completely astonished. Aleph-3 looked pensive for a second, then nodded; she had expected him to have something up his sleeve, and this was obviously it.


After a moment, the defending officer started hand-signalling to Lennart, should I pretend to have known about this? On balance, Lennart thought, no. Too hard to fake.

Hard to signal 'no, but don't bring it up, and don't answer that except to a direct question', without looking like the president of the court was directing traffic- wasn't it also illegal, a violation of procedures at least? He tried anyway.

Skorb interrupted by saying 'What evidence? Would this have been something the accusing officer was unaware of?'

'Correct.' Lennart told him. 'The rear- admiral was not in possession of this set of facts when he decided to bring charges- although that causes no great difficulty of precedent, does it? Similar things have happened a million times before.'


There was no other way, as he should have known from the beginning. Well, it might still be possible to fake it. 'Clerk of the court, roll evidence item A6.'

That was the slightly edited version of the confrontation she had been there for, fought with her clone- sister as part of, and she glared at him at one or two points where parts had been edited out- mostly references to Adannan's belief in his Force abilities.

They were all thinking furiously at the end of it; 'You were...' Ostred was the first to speak, looking at Aleph-3, didn't finish his words and changed to 'Surely this is all conspiracy theory? The man must have been mad.'

'I'd appreciate it if you could clarify whether you mean me or him.' Lennart said offhand, before pointing out as president of the court 'Although that is the issue, is it not? Kor Alric's mental state, his fitness for command, his violation of his own oaths of office.'


'He seemed to believe that you have the Force.' Biral spotted.

'Yes, he did- on the basis of Black Prince's combat record. More to the point, as that indicates, he was trying to recruit me to this conspiracy of his. I really can't claim to have been leading him on with evidence in mind, I was just dancing the do-you-know with him.'

To Skorb he said, in particular, 'You must have had contact with some of his dark friends- the Emperor's Hands, the prophets of the Dark Side, the Inquisitorius. People of that ilk. You know exactly what he meant, don't you.' It was not put as a question.

' “How dare you accuse me of being on the side of good?” ' Skorb quoted, and confirmed indirectly. He had gone from playing the thick-skulled thug in an attempt to avoid being asked to venture into troubled waters, to being cast into them anyway, and visibly wondering whether or not he would be better to drown.


'You accepted his basic argument.' Ashraul challenged Lennart. 'You took and ran with the concept that the powers of darkness are in charge. He'd clearly lost the plot.'

'Clerk of the court, roll A6-6. You're in this one again.' Lennart ordered, and they listened to the clash between Lennart and Adannan just before the press conference.

'I think they key there is “more and greater monsters.” ' Lennart said. 'Is that really the sound of an actor, of someone falsely seeking to convince? From what I knew of the man, he sincerely believed that the powers of darkness were indeed in charge, and that he was one of them.

Perhaps he tried that line of argument on me because he knew I was Corellian and probably a shade more anarchic than the norm for the fleet, but he tried to enlist my aid against the greater monsters.'


'Did he have to die?' Ostred asked. 'Was there no lesser option, psychiatric care perhaps?' Was he sincere in that?

'Who would have had the authority to commit him? Remember, by his own account of himself, he was a former surgeon- not his specialty, but he would be more familiar than the laity with psychiatry, and he had the command authority to override anyone up to and including the sector governor.' Lennart pointed out.

'Sir, it- he couldn't be brought to trial either. Not while he was alive.' Aldrem pointed out.

That hung in the air for a long time, before Biral drew the obvious conclusion. 'So we have to try him now, after he's dead...'


'Why us?' Ashraul asked. Was it just him, or did Biral seem to twitch and go a shade of pale mauve?

'Because you were daft enough to voulnteer.' Lennart pointed out. 'Or unlucky enough to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Did you expect this to be simple and straightforward, a chance to gain political correctness points by adding your signature to the execution warrant?'

'Of course not.' Skorb said. He would have been better off saying 'yes'.

'Good- you deny formally all allegations of having pre- judged the case and know of no reason why you should not remain a member of this court.' Lennart sandbagged him.


'Captain.' It was a stormtrooper; 6-blue-prime, arriving as a well armed messenger with a shrouded datapad he held up in such a way that only Lennart could see it. 'Excuse me.' Lennart said, and turned to read it.

It was a note from Mirannon. Skipper- I saw him twitch, so we searched Biral's quarters. No ongoing datawork, nothing left behind, and some very dodgy chemical traces. I think he's the conspiracy's man, and a walking bomb. From their point of view, a fake terrorist attack would solve the problem nicely, wouldn't it?

We're sweeping for other devices and arranging containment. Buy time.


Lennart pondered that for a moment, considering the practicalities. He wanted the conspiracy's man taken alive, not allowed to blow himself up, even if everyone else in the room would be safe.

Mirannon was missing something, too. He may be the galaxy's first, and please the Galactic Spirit only, atomic puppeteer, but that had been working with the force fields on a first line warship. This was a floating dock; it was designed for a certain amount of accident and skirmish resistance, but the energy density was nowhere near.

Would they be enough to stop a man with nuclear material where the inside of his bones should be taking them with him? Would they be easily enough controllable on the spur of the moment to keep his head out of the bubble, assuming his skull wouldn't go as well?

So what would work? He handed the datapad back to the stormtroop squad leader, said 'Show this to the clerk of the court.' She was supposed to be the specialist, let's see what she comes up with.

She read it, folded it up and handed it back; she stretched in her seat, rolled her shoulders and rubbed the back of her neck- of course, Lennart realised, go for the spinal cord.


'Well, what do you think so far?' Lennart asked the members of the court.

'Assuming this is reliable at all, it's disastrous.' Ostred said. 'Letting any of this get out would, it's exactly the sort of propaganda cant the formal Alliance and the proto-Alliance before that have been coming out with for the last ten years; it would confirm it all.'

'On the other hand,' Lennart said, 'it's entirely possible that it wouldn't be believed precisely because it is the kind of anti- Imperial propaganda that's been swirling round the counterculture since day one.'

He saw their skepticism, and added 'Not that I intend to rely on that, having no wish to be laid open to the charge of giving aid and comfort to the enemy- I submit this is one occasion where secrecy serves a useful purpose. Skorb?'


'I still say this is beyond our competence to stand in judgement on. The proper course of action is, and was, to pass it up to higher command who are entitled to propose and dispose.' Skorb pointed out.

'Higher command- well, Lord Vader's flag captain- more or less told me to deal with it myself.' Lennart hadn't wanted to mention that. 'I was walking a tightrope between trying to raise the alarm and coming up with something I could plausibly explain to Kor Alric. And remember, this is before any of the evidence items we've already heard.'

'You mean,' Biral said, visibly shaking, 'there's more?'

Ashraul misinterpreted it. 'Were you so much a believer that this is taking you to pieces?'


That question nearly set him off. Literally. They might have a fair chance of talking him down- if the decision to detonate was up to him. Lennart glossed over it quickly, and said 'Roll evidence items A6-16, A6-66.'

That was Aldrem's decision to take the shot, which added no proof really other than that he had been in command of his faculties at the time; followed by the final two thirds of the final confrontation.

The part starting after the bit that would have given away that Adannan had not died in the bridge module at all; instead running from Lennart's prodding Adannan to explain why, right up to 'get him.'

There was a long, cold, huddled silence after that. Aldrem wasn't a good enough actor not to give away how little of that he had known already, but at this stage it hardly mattered.


'It has been left to us, gentlemen.' Lennart pointed out. 'Whether we feel competent or not. In the old days, there would have been a sword, the defendant's; he would leave the chamber while the court deliberated, and he would come back to find the blade point or hilt towards him.

Point first, guilty. Hilt first, innocent. We might have some difficulty fitting a heavy turbolaser on the table,' and that relieved absolutely no tension whatsoever, 'and we are in closed session, so I would ask you to give your verdict now-'


'For the Prophets of the Dark-' Biral shouted/screamed, and stood up, probably to detonate. Half a beat behind the legal officer, saying the same death-mantra.

Commander Ort was defused by the Clerk of the Court throwing the recording stylus she had been prodding the datapad with through the back of his neck; a perfect shot, grace under pressure she had trained a lifetime for.

That meant she was not able to deal with Biral; she had run out of weapon, was drawing her sidearm but a fraction late, Lennart was scrabbling for his own gun, in treacle it seemed, trapped and slow-

Captain Skorb grabbed Biral by the back of the neck and the chin, and twisted. Hard. The crunch advertised that it had worked, that the spinal cord had gone. Lennart slowly counted to three; no boom.


'I suppose that's one of the tricks you learn in special operations. Thank you.' Lennart said to him, and to the clerk of the court- 'That mattered. Well done. Get a medical team, we want this pair's brains on ice as soon as possible for interrogation. And where was I? Oh, yes. I'm assuming trying to detonate counts as a guilty verdict, so would the rest of you give your verdicts please?'

'I have no doubt,' Ostred said, 'that the defendant is usually, generally and habitually guilty of something; but if he has enough of a case that they tried to assassinate him, and me- but when did you suspect, and why did you wait?'

'I took a calculated risk.' Lennart admitted. 'I guessed Adannan had poor relations with his colleagues, and they would let it play out, see exactly what we knew and he had given away before the verdict. And we have something else to follow up, now. Well?'

'With deep misgivings, innocent. Kor Alric was a lunatic who had to die.' Ostred agreed.


'Captain Ashraul, your verdict- wait, what's he doing?' The prosecuting officer had the flap of his pistol open, but Aleph-3 wasn't darting towards him, wasn't trying to stop him, and glancing at the prosecuting officer's face Lennart understood why.

The prosecuting officer, world and career crumbling around him, raised the gun to his own head, placed the muzzle in his mouth, and pulled the trigger.

'I suppose, if he felt...please don't do that, we need a quorum. Well?' Lennart got on with the business at hand.

'Innocent. He doesn't deserve it and shouldn't get away with it, but this, being caught up in the undertow of an attempt at regicide- this is mad. How can we support a man who died organising an attempt to murder the Emperor? I propose Kor Alric be retroactively declared a Rebel.'

'At that level? Let's think some more about that before we do it, yes?' Lennart said.


The medical team had arrived to take the paralysed Commander Ort and the brain-dying Captain Biral away for one live and one posthumous interrogation, and they picked up the poor prosecutor as well.

'If nothing else comes out of this,' Lennart tried another stab of gallows humour, 'considering what a total nonspecialist the defending officer is, then we literally did manage to kill all the lawyers...I suggest fudging the record so it appears as if he died in the line of duty. Captain Skorb?'

'Would it be practical to find Lieutenant Aldrem guilty of a lesser offence?' Skorb said.

'He's already confessed to blowing lumps out of my ship, and is currently under a suspended fine of the repair costs.' Lennart pointed out.

'In that case, and Powers alone know why, innocent. Not generally, but of this. It was a rightful shoot.'

'You know,' Lennart said to Aldrem, 'I'm tempted to vote guilty just out of sheer contrariness...Four to one, you're innocent, insofar as the term applies, and we have two heads full of leads, as far as they can take us.'

[Simon_Jester]

Good to have you back, ECR.

I know, sorry about the delay, but the show season is coming to a close so I should have more time to get back to a decent pace over the winter.
I know roughly what state Black Prince is going to be in when the clock runs out over Endor, and it's not far off how she emerges from this major refit, plus or minus what needs to be changed of that as a result of the shakedown cruise.

"Clock runs out" may not be the most apt choice of words for ISD modifications; the post-Endor era seems to have been a fairly friendly period for that, not least because so much Imperial military hardware was sloshing around the galaxy without any need to fill out the paperwork for it.

Think about Errant Venture; how the hell did they manage to put a cruiser-killer superlaser into that hull? They'd have had to rip out half the ship's guts and rearrange them to make room, a dockyard job if ever there was one. The fact that they could do it at all suggests that the assets to do it must have been available for the right price... or, come to think of it, that Booster Terrik had hired a couple of Mirannon's subordinates to do the work out of shipboard resources...

It worked for the dark lord because, all other factors aside, he really was that good- he had a record that could command obedience anyway. It looked as if he was an unthinking, unsubtle pounder, but not when you examined the results of Oversector Centre's fleet exercises in detail.

He did occasionally lose, but when he did it was usually on the first encounter with someone new, he hadn't yet got the measure of; that was how Piett had become his flag captain. In fact, Thrawn was pretty much the only flag officer to have any real success against him, he had won six of their encounters. Out of seventeen.

The evidence was that Vader was a tactical genius, and one of an entirely different order- it seemed to come entirely from the nerves, what of them there was left; he could glance at a situation, get through the observe-orient-decide portions of the OODA loop, and be moving before most people finished saying “let me see what's going on here...”

Lord Vader was widely thought to be an unthinking brutalist because he actually thought so fast, the process was over before most people noticed it. His speed of decision was incredible, and that was what made him a leader; his personal style was just...unfortunate.

Heh. Interesting. Thinking back to the scenes where we see Vader making command decisions, like his decision to scramble fighters on the Death Star, or at Bespin, I can see the case you're trying to make here. Care to comment further?

He really sounded as if he was trying not to follow that thought to it's obvious conclusion. Lennart agreed. 'I do not think it would be wise,' he said, 'to have it on the official records of the court that we consider Imperial Executor Lord Darth Vader to be a force for evil.'

I think we have a candidate here for Greatest Understatement of the Late Imperial Era...

'Being a Special Assistant to the Privy Councillor. A position which he held quite legitimately, by all permissible tests; and as you know perfectly well, there is a certain amount of pomp and circumstance and intimidatory show positively required of anyone who holds that kind of rank, especially in the fleet.' Lennart said.

He had conned his ship through at least one encounter in bathrobe and fluffy slippers, Aleph-3 knew it perfectly well and wished he hadn't, and could not possibly mean that seriously, she thought.

Hmm. I don't know. I'd argue it's Lennart's way of serving the same general role that pomp and circumstance would another officer. Reminds me of how some WWI era navies would 'camouflage' their warships by painting them in a crazy quilt of different-colored triangles; you'd think it would make them stand out more than uniform haze gray, but it doesn't. Different method of achieving the same goal.

First of all the president of the court seems determined to avoid that, second the defendant's entire defence centres around the idea that it was a righteous shoot, and lastly we are supposed to be mature, responsible officers who are supposed to have a grasp on the politics.' Which said a lot.

'And your way out of this dilemma was to try to make me look like a dangerous, undisciplined loon, the sort of idiot who might perpetuate a blue on blue out of sheer misjudgement.' Aldrem snapped back.

'Was it hard?' Skorb said, captain to lieutenant.

I am now confused. Who's speaking in the first paragraph, and who is Aldrem speaking to in the second?

The prosecuting officer, world and career crumbling around him, raised the gun to his own head, placed the muzzle in his mouth, and pulled the trigger.

'I suppose, if he felt...please don't do that, we need a quorum. Well?' Lennart got on with the business at hand.

...This is getting out of hand, that may be the highest suicide rate of any court in the history of Galactic Civilization, and if it isn't I hope I never find out what is...

'If nothing else comes out of this,' Lennart tried another stab of gallows humour, 'considering what a total nonspecialist the defending officer is, then we literally did manage to kill all the lawyers...

'You know,' Lennart said to Aldrem, 'I'm tempted to vote guilty just out of sheer contrariness...Four to one, you're innocent, insofar as the term applies, and we have two heads full of leads, as far as they can take us.'

Yay! Clean sweep!

[Vianca]

Good to have you back, ECR.

I know, sorry about the delay, but the show season is coming to a close so I should have more time to get back to a decent pace over the winter.
I know roughly what state Black Prince is going to be in when the clock runs out over Endor, and it's not far off how she emerges from this major refit, plus or minus what needs to be changed of that as a result of the shakedown cruise.

"Clock runs out" may not be the most apt choice of words for ISD modifications; the post-Endor era seems to have been a fairly friendly period for that, not least because so much Imperial military hardware was sloshing around the galaxy without any need to fill out the paperwork for it.

Think about Errant Venture; how the hell did they manage to put a cruiser-killer superlaser into that hull? They'd have had to rip out half the ship's guts and rearrange them to make room, a dockyard job if ever there was one. The fact that they could do it at all suggests that the assets to do it must have been available for the right price... or, come to think of it, that Booster Terrik had hired a couple of Mirannon's subordinates to do the work out of shipboard resources...

Nea, they mounted that thing in the ISD's spine.
Thus blocking off any possibly movement of heavy gear inside the ship.
In "Star Wars New Jedi Order, Rebel Stand" Wedge filled up the spine of a SSD with a metal woven lance, the Vongs didn't like it.

It's that or moving rooms into storage.
Mmm, just check Wookieepedia, looks like he removed rooms since he didn't need them anyway.

[Kartr_Kana]

Glad to have you back ECR been looking forward to more 721 for a while!