Chapter Text
Hera's decision to be satisfied with being the Empire’s best pilot quickly lost its allure when Hera realized that she’d simply been relished to a different life of Twi’lek servitude; personal chauffer to stuffy Imperial VIPs. She’d run hand full of successful campaigns against unruly worlds before her seemingly permanent assignement, she’d actually taken over the run on one planet that a troop couldn’t handle glassing their homeworld. Not only had she been able to complete that mission without complication, she’d also dragged in the defector who was allegedly trying to align with a rebel cell.
Dumb idea, buddy.
Despite her success and her efficiency, respect would never be made available to her in the Empire. She could secure the galaxy for the Emperor himself and she’d still just be a gifted inferior species. It was living amongst the stars though, when she wasn’t grounded dirtside with people who had purchased their influences with the Emperor, and that kept her going. When she’d first graduated, it was the thought of her parents’ lives, of the Tann Province that had given her drive. It was the reminder that she was keeping her home from being glassed that helped her sleep at night after she’d carried out less than savory things.
Perhaps there’d been a part of her that thought her parents would find a way to reach out to her after she graduated. Perhaps there’d been some sort of longing that she’d felt as a naïve sixteen year old girl; one that had clung to the idea that when she was able to travel the galaxy more widely that her parents would find her. Now eighteen years old, she knew that she truly had been nothing more than a memory to them. Even when she’d seen Twi’leks on other words now, anger simmered just beneath the surface.
There were a prominent species, true, but she’d seen members of her father’s cell. She'd seen plenty of people that should have recognized her. The rare times that those people ever cast glances in her direction, they immediately turned their eyes away in shame. Fear. Embarrassment.
She’d betrayed her people.
Those Twi’leks were lucky they hadn’t crossed her on a bad day or she would have hauled them in simply out of spite; out of the need to send a message to her parents that she was still there and that she was just fine without them.
“Approaching Gorse,” a dark skinned woman announced from the bridge of the Ultimatum, drawing Hera’s attention back to the task at hand. Captain Rae Sloane, or at least temporary Captain Rae Sloane, was preparing their Destroyer to settle into its vector out of orbit.
Sloane was one of the few Imperials that Hera respected even if Captain Sloane didn’t seem to respect anybody except for herself. It was rare that a woman was able to ascend the ranks so quickly without the influence of money or political power. Captain Sloane, just like Hera, was the exception to the rule. Sloane didn’t seem to mind having a Twi’lek amongst her crew, either; not as much as some of her other commanders had.
The woman even looked the other way when Hera had given into her proclivities of dropping a few of her Imperial counterparts with her blaster, on stun of course, when they’d decided they’d mutter obscenities or make unwanted advances at her. Some of her other commanding officers hadn’t been so gracious and Hera had seen enough time inside a brig for her itchy trigger finger and low tolerance for disgusting human behaviors.
Hera stood at the ready now, helmet pressed into her side as the planet flashed into view. It looked like a ball of mud, rolled together by hasty hands with fault lines along the nightside of the planet that were easily viewed even from the outer atmosphere. From what she’d studied in the gazetteer, the day side of Gorse was completely uninhabitable due to the burning hot son and lack of planetary rotation. Hanging just beyond the planet though, was a true sight to behold – and one that nearly took Hera’s breath away.
Cynda, the moon had been called. It shimmered like a jewel in the night, a radiant hue of crystalline blue that glimmered in the starlight. The holos she’d seen demonstrated an even more stunning interior with large crystal pillars that provided illuminated caverns that glittered on the interior of the moon. The planetary body was so large that it had nearly been classified as a double planet in the system. Once a tourist destination in the days of the Galactic Republic, the moon had now been converted into an active mining site for Thorilide; one of the essential components in granular solid state shock absorption for the turbo lasers aboard Star Destroyers.
Hera had made it a point to understand everything that she could about the systems that she traveled to. Not that anybody ever asked her, nor did they expect her to know. Even when she was able to supply the information to clueless captains or commanding officers, she’d rarely earned more than a sneer rather than recognition for being prepared. It didn’t stop her from absorbing every ounce of information that she could, from committing to memory every obscure and random fact about the objective at hand.
Even if she was no more than an overqualified chauffer.
Perhaps she’d gone from a naïve sixteen year old hoping for her parents to save her to a naïve eighteen year old dreaming of the day that somebody would see beyond her race and recognize that she was too good to simply be a competent chauffer. She was more than good enough to earn a spot at an Imperial Officer's Academy. She could be enough to command a Star Destroyer one day.
Looking out at the flow of traffic between the planet and the moon, Hera scowled. Her normal job would not be easy with the number of idiots beyond the viewport that drove their freighters as if they’d never sat behind the yoke of a ship before. There was a constant ebb and flow of the traffic, ships flying over each other, nearly colliding into each other – one had even scraped the Ultimatum, something that Captain Sloane hadn’t taken kindly to.
After Sloane had issued a warning to the unruly and inept freighter, their nearly inhuman guest had boarded their ship a week ago took the opportunity to exert his position over Captain Sloane. His voice sounded like something out of a bad horror holo; booming and tinny, projected from his throat rather than his mouth. Somehow, the creature was considered to be one of the Emperor’s most relied upon men and yet he was barely human.
Sure, the thing had started out human; but after a bought with the fatal Schumer’s syndrome, he’d become more machine than man.
The twinge of jealousy that Hera felt that he was able to command such respect without being a full member of so-called superior race was just as quickly quashed out when she could see the disdain of the bridge staff cast in the cyborg’s direction. For the first time that she could remember in her time with the Empire, she wasn’t getting the nastiest looks from the staff on board.
Captain Sloane turned to Hera, “Ready the shuttle. We’ll depart for the moon on the half hour.”
Hera gave a salute and affixed her helmet, slipping the hinged thing over the top of her head where two exit holes had been created for her lekku. She clasped the helmet into place and affixed her oxygen tubing before departing the deck. Where most troopers complained about their Imperial uniforms, Hera appreciated the anonymity it brought her. With her lekku bound tightly in black baffleweave, most of the Imperials that she encountered didn’t seem to notice that she was different when she was in full gear – mostly because none of them truly paid attention to their surroundings.
It was one of the few times that she actually earned the respect of her rank; Lieutenant wasn’t exactly a rank of honor but it was better than ensign or nothing at all.
Anonymity suited her just fine.
-
Hera kept the engines warm on the Lambda class shuttle as she’d been instructed. Rather than taking in and marveling at the upper levels of the manmade hangar bay, latticed Thorilide crystals creating a spectacular glitter, Hera watched the comings and goings of the personnel. There were many species that she’d seen; some Devaronians, Rodians, Neimoidians, and even a Besalisk that appeared to be in charge of an operation on the moon. There were a few humans too; most of them looked to have seen better days with yellowed skin or battered bodies that were likely a result of fighting in the Clone Wars or drinking themselves stupid. Few of them looked to be worth any of her attention but at least two had stood out to her as a potential problem.
The first was a short human male who limped along. He had permanent lines of distress etched into his face and a hand that was curled into his side in an unnatural grip. His face was pock marked and he had streaks of pink skin, scars of an indeterminate age, that looked raw against his ruddy flesh and auburn hair. He’d drawn her attention due to his obnoxiously loud voice, the way he waved his good arm around like a madman. He’d been carrying something – a toolbox.
Hera saw no obvious weapons on him.
The other that had drawn her attention was a human male; tall and lean with dark hair, almost black. He looked unusually put together for the characters that she’d seen coming and going from the mines. There was a scowl of disgust that drew his heavy brows together as he unloaded his own freighters – one that she suspected was secondary to the raving lunatic at his side. Her suspicions were confirmed when she saw the taller man grab the crazy one by the collar of his shirt, spit flying from his mouth as he yelled at the stark raving man.
Both of them disappeared into the turbolifts, the toolbox still drawing Hera’s attention. The wretched shorter man didn’t seem capable of fine labor given the curl of his hand. She’d keep an eye out for his return. There had small pockets of resistance slowly surfacing around the galaxy and though she doubted that the man – no doubt suffering from some form of psychosis by his mannerisms – had any potential to do real harm, but he was worth keeping an eye on. The taller man, however, she took minimal interest in behaviorally.
It was something else that caught her eye about him. Something that she couldn’t quite lay her finger on. Her intuition, however vague, had rarely led her wrong when it came to countermeasures against the Empire’s operations and those who thought they had it within them to overcome the might of the Galactic Empire. Her instinct told her to keep an eye on both of the men, no matter how benign the other one seemed, and she would continue to do so.
Hera settled back against her seat, watching through the transparisteel of the viewport at the tall man’s freighter as he reappeared. His eyes seemed to slide back to her shuttle for a moment and he regarded her through the window. For once, Hera wished that her helmet had been off because she would have glared at him to put him in his place for even thinking it was okay to stare at her, at an Imperial.
He disappeared into the freighter for only a moment and then re-emerged, a case of some sort strapped to his thigh.
If anything went south, she officially had her first suspect. Or perhaps second, considering the other less stable man she’d seen moments ago. Hera stared him down while he loaded his hovercart with more explosives. He was the only pilot loading his own cart; another reason for suspicion. The rest of the pilots stood around waiting for the inept loader droids that seemed to be moving at a space slug’s pace.
Before he disappeared toward the turbo lift again, he turned to look in her direction with a smug grin on his face and he gave a two fingered salute.
Humans, she thought with disgust contorting her features beneath her helmet.
Time seemed to drag on slowly and Hera wondered exactly what could possibly take so long to tour the caverns of a mining facility. This man, Count Vidian¸ who had been exulted as an efficiency expert did not seem to move with efficiency at all. Just as she considered utilizing her comm link to call to Captain Sloane to assess for any needs of assistance, a large explosion from below rocked her shuttle. Hera sat up with a start and opened the throttle on her ship. She lowered the ramp and waited expectantly for their envoy to return – hopefully to return. Without knowing the insides of the cavern or where the explosion had occurred, Hera was powerless to do anything but wait. It was expected that she would wait.
Small crystals seemed to fall from the ceilings above, no more than little pebbles that bounced harmlessly off of her shuttle.
Moments later, Vidian and Sloane appeared, their detail of troopers in tow. As they clamored aboard, Sloane was not as cool as Hera had expected that she'd be. She was showing her age; or lack thereof compared to other commanders. Before Hera could pull back on her yoke to bring the shuttle to safety, Hera noticed the man, the shorter one with the stability issues slinking along side the cargo ship she’d been watching. He still had his toolbox in hand but he looked rougher than only a half hour earlier. He glanced around before he slipped into the freighter.
She was easing backward out of the hangar when she saw the taller man, the odd case still strapped to his thigh holster rushing for the safety of his ship, eager to get off the moon moreso than the other workers who seemed to be lingering in confusion.
Gotcha, Hera thought to herself. Ultimatum was only minutes away from the moon. She could land the Lambda, hop into a TIE shuttle and catch up to the battered hauler before they’d even known what hit them.
“Captain Sloane, permission to disembark and take one of the shuttles upon arriving back at Ultimatum. I believe that I can produce the suspects responsible for the incident that just occurred,” Hera said calmly.
Wary eyes lighted on her for a moment and then Sloane gave her a curt nod, “Permission granted.”
“I saw no suspects,” the mechanically modulated voice declared from behind Hera. “I am able to monitor surveillance systems at all times within these facilities.”
Hera’s spine straightened. She was not allowed to directly acknowledge these favored guests of the Empire, only her commanding officer. She felt Sloane’s gaze, still fixed upon her. Sloane may have been young, she may have been more than willing to compromise some of her intelligence for a chance at promotion, but stupid – she was not.
Rather than vouching for the work that she knew Hera to be capable of – not that anybody ever did – Sloane merely responded, “I have multiple apt pilots at my disposal Count Vidian. One can be spared to investigate the cause of that explosion.” She paused for a moment and turned to regard the Count with what Hera knew to be cold contempt but could just as easily be disguised as Imperial Poise, “Of course, unless you have certain preferences in your pilots, my Lord.”
A sickly feeling crept through Hera’s stomach at the insinuation in Sloane’s tone. Perhaps the woman didn’t mean it, wasn’t trying to insinuate it, unless you want the Twi’lek around, but it’s what Hera heard. It’s what Hera was accustomed to. She was an overqualified chauffer and a visual treat.
“Do what you must, Captain. Just don’t waste my time,” the cyborg finally pronounced, threat lacing his heavily modulated voice.
The permission was granted just in time too, for Hera was already landing in the hangar bay of Ultimatum. Only meters away, a TIE shuttle awaited. While she would have preferred the bomber, bringing back a living suspect would be preferential to Captain Sloane and her bomber wouldn’t suit that.
It had been a while since she’d had a chance to work out some of her aggressions on unruly citizens that would oppose the Empire – okay, if she was being honest, she generally cared if they opposed her, but she could blame it on opposition to the Empire.
She was looking forward to it.
-
The ancient freighter hadn’t been difficult for Hera to locate upon departing Ultimatum. There wasn’t a pilot in the galaxy that could outrun her, let alone a mediocre suicide flyer in a freighter well past its expiration date.
“Unidentified Freighter, this is TK54981 of the Imperial Navy. You are hereby instructed to follow vector point four-two for landing and boarding. Repeat, this is TK54981 of the Imperial Navy, requesting heading vector four-two for landing and boarding by order of the Galactic Empire,” Hera broadcasted with an air of authority into her comm, certain that the decrepit freighter was receiving her transmission loud and clear.
The pilot’s erratic flight pattern was evidence enough that the message had been received. The pilot ahead of her seemed to speed up for a moment and then slow down and then continued along the vector with no sign of slowing their assent.
“TKNumbers, huh? Do you have a name?” The voice came back over her comm.
“Excuse me?” Hera asked in an annoyed tone.
The pilot’s voice came back over her comm, smooth as if he were some human piece of waste trying to pick her up in a cantina, “I was just asking you if you have a name. That’s an awful lot of numbers for a guy to remember. Especially after such a long day.”
Hera glared at the comms, “Continue to follow vector four-two, pilot.”
The freighter started to slow and for a moment it looked as if it would veer off course but the pilot maintained. After a few moments of silence, the baritone voice echoed into her cockpit again, “So, TK Numbers. What’s a fine Imperial girl doing out on a night like this? There’s all kinds of dangerous people lurking about.”
This was new for Hera. Generally it took less than a threat of being boarded for pilots to stiffly maneuver to the ground; or erratically try to fly away and then be shot out of the sky. Her fingers were itching at the trigger of her control yoke, already fed up with the pilot on the other side of the comm. “Maintain radio silence and remain aboard your vessel until instructed otherwise,” she finally said coolly. There was no way she was letting this roughneck throw her off.
She had a job to do and she’d return with the people she was certain responsible for the explosion on Cynda. There was definitely some part of her that believed if she worked hard enough, brought in enough agitators, that she'd be seen for what she could be and not what she was.
Hesitation still seemed to halt the bulk freighter until finally, it had landed on the ground just outside of the Imperial Port. Hera leapt from her TIE quickly, half expecting that her obnoxious pilot would make a run for it but there was no movement from the freighter. She drew her combat pistol from the holster at her thigh and lifted it to take aim on the cargo bay door.
There was still no movement from the freighter, not even the sound of movement inside.
“Exit the freighter,” she spoke into the comm link on her wrist, “slowly.”
Still, there was nothing.
Not generally one to give a last warning but also well aware of the strange toolbox that the short and crazy human had along with the peculiar case that the taller man was carrying, Hera decided a final warning was warranted if only to prevent another potential explosion. She pressed the link on her wrists to speak again but the door finally started to groan, the sound of aged durasteel in dire need of lubrication.
The tall man came out first, case still at his thigh and hands in the air. There was a smug grin on his face, “Don’t shoot. I’m harmless.”
Hera kept her blaster leveled on him anyway and responded in an even voice, “Keep your hands up and your mouth shut.”
The grin widened and he made a show out of raising his hands higher.
“Where’s your other passenger?” She asked, watching the smarmy bastard over the top of her blaster.
For a long moment he made a show of keeping his lips pressed together with his hands held high toward the stars. The man was just begging to be shot.
“I asked you a question, pilot.”
“In order to answer a question, I’d have to open my mouth,” he drawled and gave her a wink, “I wasn’t sure what I should do.”
With her blaster still aimed at the mouth, Hera shifted her gaze toward the freighter and she heard the pilot at the end of her blaster shift. She turned her head back to him, “Don’t. Move.”
“Oh, I’m not. I just noticed – you’re not like the other Imperials I’ve encountered before,” He made a motion to his head, referring to her lekku. “Seems like they’re finally stepping up their game. Not that I’m complaining. It’s only too bad that they make you wear those helmets.”
Hera flipped her gun to stun. The pilot was ten seconds away from being dropped, “I’ll ask you again, where is your friend? I saw both of you on the moon. I know he’s aboard the vessel.”
“Oh that guy?” the man smirked, “He’s definitely not my friend. I was actually hoping to turn him into the Imperials. He’s a real pain in the – well, y’know. He’s stuck in the passenger seat if you’d like to retrieve him, take him back to your – “
Before the man could finish his sentence, the psychotic little man that Hera had seen on the moon appeared in the doorway, some sort of device in one hand, large toolbox clutched in his other mangled hand. His mouth had barely opened to speak and Hera pulled the trigger of her blaster, dropping the short man to the ground.
The taller man’s eyes widened and he took one step back toward his freighter, “So you like skipping straight to the point, huh? I like that in a girl.”
“Move again and I drop you too,” she said carefully, reaching with one free hand to loose a pair of binders in a pocket on her thigh.
His eyes slipped to her hand at her side and then back up to her helmeted hand, “Look lady, I brought you the guy who did his thing. Maybe you just take him back to his boss and you and I can go some place fun. My treat.”
“Hands,” Hera pronounced, advancing toward him with slow and intentional steps, “now.”
Before she could take two steps toward him, he bolted toward the aft of the freighter, leaving his friend slumped over at the ramp. He was fast, almost preternaturally so. Unfortunately for him, Hera was used to runners. She fired off two rounds in his direction, just barely nipping at his heel before she ran after him.
It had been just enough to slow him down but not stun him.
Hera sprang from the ground and into the man’s back, slamming him face first into the muddy ground. There was no doubt that he was bigger than her and weighed more than she did; she may have knocked the wind out of him but he wouldn’t be holding still for long. She kept her blaster trained at the back of his head.
“Y’know usually I like them feisty but this time – “ he started to groan and then fell silent before he could finish his statement as she brought the butt of her blaster down on the back of his head.
Humans.
-
The smaller man, while stocky, had been fairly easy to shove into the cockpit of her tie shuttle. She didn’t bother with the toolbox grappled in his mangled hand; the device in his other hand appeared to be a remote control detonation device. She left it aboard the freighter after she'd managed to pry it away from him. She’d let the other troopers deal with it and if they blew themselves up, that wasn't her problem. In his pocket though was a holodisk, though. That, she wasn't going to leave behind. Hera held it between two fingers, eyeing it warily. What was a common agitator that seemed more than a little crazy doing carrying around data on his person? Had it been part of a larger plan or directive?
She’d deliver the information to Captain Sloane personally.
The remaining man, however, left Hera uncomfortably interested. She’d put him in binders attached to her shuttle while she searched the freighter. There wasn’t much of interest there; only a bag of clothing and a couple ration bars. When she came back out, he was still slumped against her shuttle but his head was rolling back and forth as if he were coming to.
Hera knelt before him, pinning his legs into the mud with her knees. She plucked his blaster from the holster and turned on the safety before dropping at her side. Her fingers reached out to the case on his opposite thigh to grasp it and he stiffened beneath her. She looked up at him to see his chin lifting.
“You don’t want to look at that,” his voice was strangely even, a steady and calm tone.
The complete opposite of a man who’d been caught in a terrorism conspiracy should sound.
“Oh, I believe I do,” she answered, reaching down to unclasp it from his thigh.
“You really don’t want to look at that,” he said again and this time the steady and calm tone sounded just a little more desperate. His pheromones gave off fear.
Hera pointedly unzipped the case before him and she peered down into it. Her brow furrowed. It didn’t appear to be a detonation device but she couldn’t quite make out what it was, not under the cover of her helmet. Using one hand she reached up to unclasp the thing, then she unhinged it and dropped it to the side. Her eyes were focused on the large silver contraption; almost some sort of a cell and then a smaller second piece detached from it. They almost looked like they should fit together but she didn't bother. Somebody else could deal with it.
There was another piece in the case, something blue and gold in the shape of a cube.
“Whoa,” her captive said before she even had a chance to ask him what the hell he was carrying.
When her gaze met her captive’s he seemed awestruck. “I suppose if I’m finally going to go, this is definitely the way to do it.” The smug grin on his face had faded into a sad smile.
There was something different about the way that he looked at her compared to the way that she’d seen other humans look at her. It wasn’t lecherous or contemptuous. It was something strangely gentle. She decided she liked it less that the other gazes. She pulled the thing from its case, “What is this?”
“Not a bomb. Which means you can let me go,” he answered, his gaze still leveled on hers.
Hera snorted, “Not going to happen. You’ve got some questions to answer.”
“I can answer all of your questions right here,” he offered and then let a grin pull up one side of his mouth, “or you could let me collect my final pay and then I could take you somewhere nice. Not that there’s much nice on Gorse but I know a few places.”
“The only place you’re going is to the brig,” she said in a firm voice, zipping the case back up but keeping it in her clutches.
The man visually grimaced, his unusually blue-green eyes darkening just a bit, “I’m not really into bondage but – “ he paused and raised his eyebrows. It didn’t change the look of desperation he tried to hide under his miserably failing charm, “I could make an exception for you.”
Rolling her eyes, Hera pulled her blaster from her holster and leveled it on him. She gave no warning before she pulled the trigger.
He slumped again, arms draped over his head where his binders held him to her ship. There was a badge attached to a lanyard around his neck and she reached out to examine it.
Moonglow Refinery it read at the top and just beneath that, a name.
Kanan Jarrus.