Several Weeks after the ‘Incident’ in Epsilon…

Dead Gun banked hard a ‘larboard and came up on its larger brethren’s port side.  At nearly twice her length and complement the Devastator was a formidable warship, and the current home of the Naval Commander in Chief.  Breaking thrusters pulled the Victory-II to a halt alongside the flagship; this was not a social call.  A General Court-Martial was being held aboard the Devastator this day and the Naval High Council was assembling.  The Daring had arrived just before and was stationed on the Devastator’s twelve high.  The Iron Duke was on her starboard.  The other smaller personal craft were in station close by.  Their passengers already waiting within the hulking lead vessel prepared for the task at hand.

Conference room 1394-B was the same as the other several hundred briefing rooms on any Star Destroyer; a grey metallic box, one large table – one smaller, and several chairs and two doors. At the larger; Rocketman, Bacredi, Atrasin, Drac and Stormz – the smaller held but one man: Jaden Khaar.  The six were not gathered to weigh evidence and debate guilt that had been long ago established; rather they were here to make formal the end all knew that day in Epsilon.  No lawyers sat with Khaar preparing flowery defenses and quoting axioms.  None were needed.   

The Wookiee spoke, “[Firrrst things firrrst.  The matterrr of CPO Phennirrr.  I find that while his actions, werrre technically within the letterrr of Naval policy, they werrre not within the spirrrit of it, and do NOT crrross into trrreason.  Trrransferrr him somewhere on the frrrontierrr. He may worrrk his way back someday.  Now, Line Captain Jaden Khaarrrr the charrrges beforrre you are numerrrous and grrrave.  You have been judged by yourrr peerrrs and the laws of the Vast Empirrre and been found: guilty.]”

Khaar sat stoically, silently.

He continued, “[The stated punishment forrr these crimes is death.  Severrral of yourrr peerrrs herrre beforrre you have perrrsonally volunteerrred to carrrry out said sentence.]”

The stony faces in front of him echoed the statement; he could see the bloodlust in the eyes of several of his former shipmates. 

“[On yourrr feet,”] he growled low

Khaar stood, not knowing what they had in mind for him.  One by one the officers of the Fleet came around the conference table.  His eye flicked to the lightfoil that hung from Atrasin’s belt, remembering the Atoran had a taste for the dramatic and archaic.  Would he be run through after all, would his last sight be of the cyborg’s cold smile as he slid into the abyss?  The five stood before him, the Wookiee NCC center stage. 

“[Jaden Khaarrr, you stand here convicted of high crimes and misdemeanorrrs against the Navy of the Vast Empirrre.  You arre strrripped of all rrrank, position, and cast out.]”

A furry paw reached out, grasping J’s rank plate, the not fully extended claws piercing the cloth and the flesh below and tearing downward.  The plate gave easily to the Admiral’s pull.  Blood welled up from the light wound the raking claws left, staining his uniform and his honor.  The rest stood impassively.  Stormz turned to the darkest corner of the room.

“[Lieutenant Grrrey, take this trrrash off of my ship.]”

From the shadows stepped a slight man in an all black uniform, hands behind his back, a passive blank look on his face.  He nodded his acknowledgement to the commander and motioned politely for Khaar to follow.  Jaden turned right, the movement and the wounds caused him to sway.  The NHC, now to his left, stepped back and, en masse, turned their back on him.  He pulled himself up and began to follow the Intelligence man, wondering if his death waited in an airlock or down a trash compactor.  The sound of drums played the tattoo of the Rouge’s March as he left the room.

A short walk down the indistinguishable hall and they stopped, in front was the airlock that Jaden had anticipated.  Lieutenant Grey palmed open the hatch and motioned for him to enter.  His knees buckled slightly, yet Grey made no move to steady him.  He regained his footing and haltingly moved into the chamber.  The door whooshed closed behind him.  Time stretched.  He thought to his past and his successes, his mistakes, his friends, his enemies, to the things he said and the things left unsaid – and he was ready.  The door before him opened.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Instead of the instantaneous agony of depressurization he saw the interior of a ship.  Within that ship, stood a man, unkempt, slovenly, a Keed, and a poor excuse for one at that – eating an apple.

“What’re you waiting for, an invitation?  Get your ass on board, and mind that you don’t bleed all over my floor, I just had it cleaned last year.”

Khaar stumbled in the hatch and it sealed behind him. The YT-1250 was old and battered a working ship.  No luxury, it screamed ‘sub-standard’, but he was alive.  One of the hands threw him a medi-pak as he sat to dress his wounds. 

“Where we are headed, “he croaked.

“We’re bound for the Barrier Zone.  We have replenishment for their med supplies then off to the Resettlement Worlds.  You are paid for as far as Sump, and no further, “he stated matter-of-factly.

The former officer nodded, the bottom was as good a place to start as any.