Star Wars Character Cafe - The Floating Fortress Part 9

THE FLOATING FORTRESS

49. Fire (Assault Chronometer: 00hr 53min 12sec)

They were approaching Government House at the fastest speed Clip could pull out of the Raging Cusper – which, admittedly, was not very fast at all. Eva had pointed this out to him on at least three occasions, and he was finding it harder and harder to come up with witty comebacks. Though he had shut her up with “You know, it might not be much, but it’s in better condition than your ship, isn’t it?”

Maybe he’d gone slightly too far with that one.

“Still no report?” Clip asked Cracken, trying to sound casual. The man was still damp, despite the blow-drying the repulsorlifts had given him. He was constantly sticking his fingers in his ears, trying to scrape the sand out of them. He shook his head slowly.

“Not yet. Too busy shooting, I suppose.”

His voice was strained, even anxious. Clearly, Cracken was worried for his men – and if Cracken thought there was cause for worry, then Clip wasn’t about to argue. Oddly enough, he felt as though he should say something – as if, somehow, his childhood relationship with Wedge gave him some bizzare insight into the current circumstances. But what was he to say? Words like ‘I’m sure they’ll be fine’ resound so hollow in a situation as silent as this.

“I’m sure they’ll be fine,” Clip said.

Idiot.

“Whoa, the sensors just picked up something,” Eva said. Clip turned to thank her silently. From the expression in her voice, he could have sworn she had meant the comment to break the uneasy silence in the aftermath of his words. But her gaze was fixed intently on the sensor readouts.

There was something out there – another ship. A shuttle, rising from the surface at an unusually high speed for atmospheric slight. It was unusual, but Clip did not alter his course. Their main objective here was still Wedge and the others, under fire in Government House.

“Wait a minute,” Cracken said suddenly, leaning forward to read the sensors for himself. “Is that…the Extortionist Prime? Emperor’s nose, that’s the Governor’s-”

His voice was cut off by a crackle from the comm unit. So sudden was this crackle in the midst of so much intrigue that Clip jumped slightly. He hoped that none of the others noticed.

“Calling Cracken. Where the hell are you?”

Clip smiled broadly. It was Booster.

And he sounded happy.

“Terrik? We’re coming to your aid, of course. What’s going on in there?” Cracken took the liberty of responding for everyone present. Although Clip didn’t know anything about the battle that they must have fought, there was something about Booster’s voice – maybe because it was just so familiar, almost paternally so – that told him that everything was okay. That they were all fine.

“Well, we suffered a minor setback when the Thundering Hordes of the Empire overwhelmed us, but we’re decidedly in ‘happily ever after’ territory over here. Thanks for the assist, by the way.”

Clip snorted a laugh, “We figured you had it under control, Booster.”

“Terrik, put Wedge on,” Cracken ordered, talking quickly. Booster replied with some kind of indignant sarcastic comment, but Clip missed it – Cracken had started speaking to him. “Argentsson, I want you to make a slow circle of Government house, but inch us out closer to that shuttle, will you?” he ordered. “Make it inconspicuous. And whatever you do, make sure it doesn’t get out of sensor range.”

Clip nodded confidently at the military man, though his mind was reeling from the instructions. Cracken had said it all so flippantly, as if it were your run-of-the-mill flight plan for secretly tracking a suspect shuttle. Never mind how hard it was to keep a ship in sensor range, constantly be inching closer to it, all without rousing suspicion.

“Antilles here,” Wedge’s voice drifted into the cockpit, sounding much more sober than Booster’s did. Clip’s nerves shook a little at the sound of his voice. Perhaps the rebels hadn’t fared as well as Booster made out.

“Wedge, report,” Cracken said.

“Sir, we have defeated what we believe to be the last of Stormtroopers on this level. We’re currently holding our position in the corridors outside the governor’s offices. The offices themselves are somewhat…uninhabitable.”

“Any casualties?” Cracken demanded.

A pause.

“Just one, sir. Your mercenary contact Christof was shot in the back twice by blind Stormtrooper fire. His body is being looked after by the other three mercenaries."

The name Christof raised a flag in Clip’s memory. He had heard that name earlier, uttered by Cracken. That’s right, he thought back, Eva didn’t like the man. He looked at her face. Indeed, she didn’t seem distressed in any way to hear about this casualty. In fact, she looked a little bored.

So Christof was a mercenary. Nobody likes mercenaries. Least of all smugglers. Clip was happy to take that as the reason for her apparent apathy to hear of his death. At least she isn’t cackling like an evil spirit or anything.

“That is a pity. See to it that his actions in assisting you are logged in your report,” Cracken said. He looked apathetic too, but it was a different kind of apathy. It was a more reluctant one, probably a result of years of military experience that had lead him to send men to their deaths on the oft.

“I will, sir.”

Clip was currently circling the grand building that was Government House, and trying to keep an eye on the sensor contact at the same time. Trying his best, as he was distracted by the absolute war-torn state Government House was in.

In one of the walls facing the courtyard, A gigantic hole had been blown in the building, and the rear of what looked like one of the Imperial Assault Shuttles was protruding from it. All along the various corridors, windows were smashed – struck by stray laser bolts or knocked in somehow. And from the highest level, smoke was pouring in billowing clouds from hundreds of breaches in the walls. Whatever had happened there, Clip was glad he’d been away at the time.

He brought the Raging Cusper around in a tighter circle, and began to head toward the anomalous shuttle that Cracken was so interested in. He couldn’t imagine why – fair enough, it had broken the no-fly rule imposed by the Empire in a state of martial law. But that meant nothing. They themselves were breaking the no-fly rule, and had been all day.

“And Tigellinus?” Cracken asked.

“We’ve searched all over, sir. He’s not on this level, and it’s highly unlikely that we passed him on the way down – the Pilots in the airspeeders would have seen him exit on ground level.”

Cracken paused a second.

“Wedge, I need you to confirm something for me,” he said.

“Sure, what do you need?”

“I want visual confirmation that the Governor Thrisst is dead,” he stated bluntly. There was a short pause from the other end of the line. When Wedge spoke again, his voice was a little unsure.

“I saw him with my own eyes, Commander…but I can have that confirmed if you so order. May I ask what this is about?” Cracken seemed to consider it himself before answering. He ran a finger across the bridge of his nose and a thumb across his eyebrows, apparently deep in thought.

“Just a hunch that wont quit bugging me,” Cracken answered.

“Alright, give me a minute,” Wedge said curtly.

On his second loop of Government House, Clip noticed something odd. The shuttle they were pursuing had come to a halt. It was now hovering in a single point, several kilometres out to sea. In fact, hovering more or less level with where Cracken and his men had been waiting…around the same place the Conquistador had been floating just minutes earlier…

No way, it couldn’t be…

“Cracken?” Clip said urgently, twisting in his seat to look the man in the eye. Cracken snapped his head around, his eyes intense. “I think you should see this,” he said, pointing to the sensor readout again.

He leaned forward to check the readings, and then straightened. A merciless expression formed on his face, and he nodded his head once. Clip would have given a lot to know what was going on inside the man’s head.

“Argentsson, you got any torpedos on this ship?” he asked.

“Yeah, ahh…four of em.”

“Then arm them, and throttle up. I want that shuttle intercepted,” he ordered. Clip’s heart skipped a beat – an interception mission. He’d never actually had occasion to use the torpedos of the Raging Cusper. In fact, these were the same warheads that had been loaded in the tubes for several years. Sithspit, I hope they haven’t got an expiration date on them.

“What?” Eva demanded, straightening in the Co-pilot’s chair. Clip nosed the reticule of the ship around to face the small shuttle, and set his throttle to full. The little gunboat blasted forward, moving at top speed toward the target.

“They’re Imperials, aren’t they?” Clip asked.

Cracken did not answer. He was still staring determinately forward, waiting patiently for the call from Wedge. Eva’s eyes widened with realisation, and she squinted her eyes, trying to focus on the small ship – as though that would somehow help her see who was inside it.

They were still a long way away from the shuttle when Wedge’s voice returned to the comm unit. “Visual confirmation acquired, and confirmed through personal ID, Commander. Governor Thrisst is dead.”

It seemed to be enough for Cracken.

“Thank you Wedge. If you haven’t already, call of your search for the Grand Admiral. We’ve found him,” he said with satisfaction. There was a stifled snort of surprise from Wedge, and Eva smiled a big, toothy grin – it resembled more baring her teeth than anything else.

“He’s outside?” Wedge asked tentatively.

At that exact moment, the targeting computer had closed enough distance for the torpedos to begin locking on. The targeting reticule went yellow, and a shrill warning sounded in the small cockpit. Slowly, the reticule went orange, the warning sounds intensifying until…

A constant hum. The target was painted red.

The Grand Admiral was in their sights.

“Argentsson?” Cracken said serenely.

“Commander?”

“Fire.”

50. Of Fools and Floating Fortresses (Assault Chronometer: 00hr 5min 09sec)

Chaos…

Utter Chaos.

Grand Admiral Tigellinus tried to speak, to scream in rage, to release the fury building rapidly inside of him. But no noise would emerge. This atrocity was too grave for the hopelessly inadequate linguistics of humans. There simply was no word for this…this…

Chaos!

Things had spiralled hopelessly out of control - they had been doing so ever since he had left the Conquistador. He needed control. Without control, he was powerless - and vulnerable. Imperial Grand Admirals were never meant to be vulnerable. It was a raw form of weakness. And weakness was an issue for subordinates to deal with…

Subordinates, yes.

Subordinates who allowed this to happen!

Governor Thrisst’s shuttle circled the bubbling water of Gavorr’s oceans very slowly. Tigellinus’ eyes grew narrower and narrower as he took in the enormity of the wreckage below him. In the exact spot that the ship had been floating, the water still churned as the final pockets of atmosphere were squeezed out of the Star Destroyer, like a drowning beast dispelling it’s final breaths. Every so often, a piece of debris would bob to the surface - as well as the occasional body of a crewwman. Outward they floated, and silently took their place among the other remains of the Conquistador.

How?

How could this have happened? The rebels were dead - he had made sure of it. Each of the three sleeper units had performed their duties, and reported mission complete. The divers, the fighters, the rest of the pilots - all eliminated. Sleeper unit three had even destroyed the smuggler contact that the rebels had recruited, the one who had been flying the Eva After.

And so, how?

There were only two reasonable explanations. The first was that some kind of civil militia had dealt this blow the Imperial Navy. The second was that the Rebellion had bested him.

Never! The Rebellion did not deceive me.

There was only one man who had deceived him. The one man that Tigellinus had placed his trust in. The one man who had a direct bearing on the fate of the Conquistador. The only man who - in the Grand Admiral’s absence - could have saved the ship from being scuttled.

“Garlinn, you fool!”

Words had caught up with Tigellinus at last. They exploded from him with enough force to make the pilot beside him jump, startled. If he was afraid of how the Admiral might react, he had every right to be. Tigellinus trembled slightly in his seat, trying to disperse the fury in his body evenly - and prevent himself from breaking some important consoles.

He had trusted Garlinn. He seemed such an upstanding officer, with an integrity to override any thoughts of personal gain. If only his competence was as fine.

This was an Imperial Class Star Destroyer! The largest ship in the Imperial navy (excluding, of course, the Super-class). There had only ever been three recorded total losses of Imperial Star Destroyers - and of them, only one to the Rebellion. That ship had fought for seven hours before finally being overrun and destroyed.

Taking the worst-case scenario, the Conquistador had been utterly destroyed in the space of less than thirty minutes. Somehow, in a feat of leadership breakdown, Garlinn had managed to set a record in personal failure. Tigellinus’ Floating Fortress was gone.

“Pilot,” he said shortly - malice still thick in his voice. “Take us to Coruscant.”

“Yes, sir - immediately,” the other man responded, bringing the small shuttle around to break the atmosphere. “We should be in orbit in less than two minutes.”

Tigellinus did not respond.

The Emperor would hear of this…fiasco. But surely he, the Grand Admiral, would not be held accountable for the shortcomings of a lowly Captain. No, of course he wouldn’t. The Emperor was gracious and certainly understood what it was to have a subordinate fail him. He would undoubtedly see the truth in the situation.

And then, Tigellinus would finish the job he had begun.

A rescue force would need to be organised, of course – surely there must be some survivors of this calamity. They would need to be retrieved, and debriefed – and appropriately punished for their negligence.

The Emperor would grant him command of a bigger force - a better force. One which would not fail to carry out the most simple of tasks. Perhaps he would govern one of the Super-class star destroyers, and go from system to system, smiting the Rebellion as he went. System to System, starting with Gavortis Major. His crew would be experienced, capable - not like some of the conscripts serving on the Conquistador. They would be invincible - a symbolic weapon to bear on anyone who dare oppose the Emperor.

Yes, it would be per-

His train of thought was broken by a sudden squealing from the cockpit PA system. Tigellinus’ heart skipped a beat, and he snapped his head toward his pilot, his eyes demanding answers. What he saw did not hearten him. The Pilot’s eyes were widened with fear.

“Missile lock! I’m reading one…two torpedos incoming! Going evasive!” he shouted. He did not wait for the Admiral’s permission. Working reflexively, he shoved the shuttle into a nose dive, and began to twist it on it’s axis.

“Pilot! Countermeasures!” Tigellinus shouted.

“None, sir!” the pilot yelled back, still twisting the ship. In the atmosphere of Gavortis Major, the inertial compensator could not keep up with the vigorous movement. The world spun - Tigellinus felt ill. It was lucky he had harnessed himself to the seat correctly.

The ship seemed to be travelling painfully slowly - there was no chance of outrunning the warheads. Even Tigellinus recognised the fact that, in atmosphere, a torpedo was going to win a race with any kind of craft. The pilot would have to prove his mettle…

“First torpedo incoming! Impact six seconds!” he shouted.

It was probably an inappropriate time to begin wondering who was firing at them, but Tigellinus couldn’t help it. He knew it was nothing more than trivia right now - the identity of the assault ship didn’t amount to much in the middle of a warhead explosion. But he couldn’t help it. Above all, he desired to know - who is responsible?

Who has beaten me like this?

“Brace!” the pilot screamed, ducking his head and yanking on the flight controls. At the last second, the Governor’s ship retched to starboard, the force of the manoeuvre straining the hull. Tigellinus closed his eyes, and clenched his teeth…

There came the explosion. It ripped through the atmosphere, and sent ripples through his very body. The noise was extremely loud - in fact, so loud that he could hear no more. The shuttle was tumbling, end over end, through the sky. The torpedo had missed, but not by much. He felt sweat - or was it blood? - trickling from his ears and nose, tracinng cool lines along his burning face.

Then came the second explosion - this time only felt. Almost as violent as the first, it this time pitched the entire shuttle directly toward the surface of Gavortis - down, toward the glimmering blue ocean. Tigellinus felt his head smack against something hard and sharp, and nearly blacked out. In the same spot, a strangely cool sensation was spreading across his head - more blood. His head had split open.

Who?

He looked over at his pilot. He was not conscious - or dead. It was impossible to tell in the pitching and lurching ship. The inertial compensator had stopped functioning altogether, and Tigellinus could feel the terrifying weightlessness of freefall gripping his body. It was probably a good thing that he couldn’t hear - lights and alarms flashed at him from all over the cockpit.

Who?

With a final effort, he reached over and tried to take control of the small ship from the pilot. The flight controls were stuck fast, and moving of their own accord - but he managed to get his hands around them. For a moment suspended in time, he felt sure he could guide the craft out of it’s suicide dive. Exactly one second later, that feeling was gone. Atmosphere and gravity were firmly in control of the ship. The engines were not responding.

Who?

The water was rushing up to meet the shuttle, the world spinning out of control…no control…

Who?

Chaos, turmoil, confusion, disarray…they overwhelmed him. There was no control here…no exactitude…there was nothing but the burning question that would not leave him alone. It was his final thought as the shuttle collided with the water. His eyes saw the cockpit of the shuttle flatten and crush inward, but his brain did not register it. It was filled with the unanswered question…the question that he felt certain would haunt him during whatever afterlife he had to look forward to. Floating in a sea of chaos, forever, unanswered.

Who?