“Long live the Rebellion!” Gaab shouted into his comlink.

The boy’s dead, Solo thought, and lined up Gaab’s fighter in his sights. If he didn’t die in space, he was going to die horribly from some form of torture in a dark, forgotten room in the bowels of the Adeptus. Forget the Grey room; that was just a place of punishment where they might punch you in the face a little. Shooting down a fellow cadet? Even a jerk like S’Vip, who’d earned theire of just about everyone at one time or another ? And taking an expensive Imperial fighter with you? They’d mail what was left of Gaab back to his family in a little, plastenamel box…

Family?

Gaab had flown off the handle when S’Vip had mentioned…

Gaab was wheeling about, lining up his sights on the shuttle they’d been escorting. Telar and Gand, the remaining pilots in Besh wing, were still hovering by the shuttle. Even hidden inside the mechanical confines of the TIE fighters, Solo could sense their hesitation, their fear.

Dav heard the exchange, saw S’Vip’s fighter disappear from his scanner. “Gabb! Gaab, what’re you doing? Stand down! Stand down! You’re going to…to…”

“Stay focused on your job, Black One,” Hublin’s voice sounded in Dav’s ear. “Second Lieutenant Solo knows what to do, don’t you, Solo?”

Han Solo, Second Lieutenant of the Imperial Navy, looked at his scanner. His ship’s computer locked its guns on Gaab’s ship, and then informed him that Gaab was locking onto another ship in Besh wing, this time Telar’s.

“Yes, sir!” Solo said, hoping for a change that the sarcasm dripped from his voice in buckets as he squeezed the triggers.

#

Dav sat in his pilot’s chair of the TIE fighter and looked around. His flight helmet sat on the small space between his feet, frowning up at him.

He felt a tremor in his hand. Then he shook all over uncontrollably for several minutes. He wanted all kinds of things, all different, all at the same time. He felt so exhausted that he never wanted to leave the chair he now sat in, not ever. He wanted to throw up and curl into a ball on the floor. He wanted to run around in a wide open field, screaming every curse word he knew at the top of his lungs. He wanted to throttle Gaab and the rebels and S’Vip for turning the greatest day of his life into the worst ever.

And he wanted to go home. He wanted to go home, lie in his bed, and go to school the next day with all his friends like nothing ever happened.

But he knew that could ever happen. That door had closed- all his friends had graduated. Moreover, he’d seen and done things no one he’d known before this life aboard the Adeptus would ever, could ever understand. Not his mother, father, not even fat, sloppy Narb who thought that holding a blaster to someone’s head qualified him to be a gangster.

None of them could fathom the thrill of flying with friends at your side, or the pain of knowing they died in space.

Dav heard Solo emerge from the TIE fighter a few places down the line. The Second Lieutenant, now looking much younger and almost as rattled as Dav, removed his helmet and walked slowly down the line. He paused at Dav’s ship, seeing the young cadet still in his own gear, also minus his helmet, staring at him.

Solo held Dav’s gaze for a long minute. His look spoke volumes more than an ordinary talk would have done. In the end, Dav knew that Solo knew what Dav was going through, and would be there for him or others if needed.

Solo suddenly winced as his comink, always in the ear of a commander on duty, began chattering at him. Solo nodded as he listened, then turned away from Dav as he spoke into his own comm speaker mounted on his shoulder.

“Attention, Aurek and Besh wing,” Dav heard the tinny, subdued voice of Solo through the speaker in Dav’s helmet, which sat upside-down on the cramped floor of the fighter. “I do have some good news, We’ve recovered the bodies of Gaab, S’Vip and Porkins using the tracers on their flight suits. S’Vip and Porkins’ funeral will be in six hours at the meeting hall. Get some rest. You and the rest of Four Flight are expected to be there in your dress greys.”

#

The hall had been cleared of athletic equipment, most likely by droids that had been programmed long ago on how to set up the large, former hangar bay for funerals of pilots and cadets. Dav confirmed that droids had done the work when he saw the piles of athletic equipment stacked neatly but still in sight over in several corners of the hall. Neat, but without concern that the place look like it was dedicated to those who’d passed on.

Two coffins side-by-side draped with black flags adorned the center aisle. The flags held the symbol that Dav had been seeing more and more lately: A white circle with spokes in the center, which looked like either a gear or a wheel. Rows of chairs lined behind the podium, which was to the front and in between the coffins. To the left and right of the speaker’s podium were a pair of holo-projectors, which beamed idealized images of Porkins and S’Vip for everyone to see.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

Everyone was dressed in their grey tunic and pants. Most were pressed to knife-edge creases. Even those who never had spoken to Porkins or S’Vip had put in extra effort to get their uniforms looking sharp as possible for the first formal event they’d be attending as cadets.

They sat and waited. Jada shed a few tears. The few other female cadets and a few of the males also sniffled and let go of the occasional sob.

After a time, they heard the click-clack of officer’s boots on the metal floor of the deck.

“Headmaster, on deck!” someone yelled. Everyone jumped up at attention while looking straight forward. A man in his early fifties with short, clipped grey hair and a paunch belly stepped up to the podium. Dav realized this was Commodore Bast, commander of the Adeptus and head of the Academy. He was the kind of leader whose presence was known, felt, but never directly seen by the cadets, unless he was walking about conferring with his officers about a number of issues.

“Squadron, stand at-ease. Stand easy. Relax and sit,” he said, his hands on the podium while he spoke into an unseen amplifier.

They sat.

Commodore Bast spoke. His voice did not betray the slightest bit of emotion, as if he’d performed this act many times before.

“We are here today to honor the lives of two of your comrades: Cadets Porkins, and S’Vip. Both died well. Porkins led his wing under the command of Second-Lieutenant Solo, opening fire on the enemy, and checking for permission to eject his vessel. He was a model of grace under pressure, never showing an inch of panic even when his ship was damaged in the vacuum of space. He is survived by his loving parents, and his stepbrother, Jett.

“Cadet S’Vip reacted the way I would want my own son to react in the face of a traitor in the ranks: He opened fire upon the traitor, even before his weapons had a chance to lock on. The shame lies, not with S’Vip for missing his shot, but with the traitor who succumbed to weakness and fired upon his trusting and unsuspecting comrade. S’Vip is survived by his proud father, who told me when informed of his son’s death that no father could expect a better honor for his son, than to die in the Empire’s service.

“Ladies and gentlemen, these are the facts, however, of life as an imperial pilot: based upon the statistics available, the odds are that many of you will not survive your first five missions. Sometimes, survival is as much a matter of luck as it is skill and adherence to procedure.

“We can, though, look to the lives of our comrades and gain meaning from this tragedy. As you can see, the emblem of the Empire adorns their caskets. The emblem resembles both a wheel and a gear. A wheel is a means of moving great things forward. And in any machine, every part is needed and valuable. The smallest gear can lead to the greatest things in any machine being undone.

“When they are buried in space, this emblem will be laser-stenciled on their coffins. This is a sign that you have died honorably in combat, fighting the enemies of the Empire, and protecting the citizen subjects of its beneficent Emperor.

“And so, as we commit the remains of your comrades to the darkness of the void of space,” the Commodore continued, “we must not dwell upon their passing. We must instead move forward, never forgetting the example that they have passed on to us. In light of this,” he said, turning towards the dark metal coffins, “Cadets Porkins and S’Vip, I hereby bequeath upon you the posthumous rank of Ensign. Your families will, of course, receive the necessary compensation based upon this increase in rank.”

Commodore Bast looked around him. There were one-hundred-seventeen cadets in the room. “You are still the elite, the best of the recruits the galaxy has to offer. The worth of your lives is measured not only in personal honor and glory, but in your amount and quality of service to the Empire. We must not forget that the there are and always will be those who are not as ambitious as our Emperor has been. There are and always will be those who believe that disorganized individuals are a better means to prosperity and fulfillment than discipline and order. There are and always will be those who believe that the gift of order is not a gift, but a form of intrusive tyranny. These rebels are nothing short of worthless insects, carrion that wish to feast on the corpse of the old Republic. Like a sorcerer from a child’s fairy tale, these scum seek to re-animate old, dead ideas and dreams.

“In the five years since the advent of the new order, our enemies have found that the ground beneath them has shifted. They have and will meet death for their efforts. Their old, dead ideas will wither in the face of the new order and it’s proven effectiveness. Their outdated, sorcerer’s ways will be crushed by the iron hammer of the stormtrooper’s boot, the TIE fighter’s blasters, and the Emperor’s unflinching resolve. And at the forefront of all the coming battles, cadets, shall be you: the finest that the Empire has to offer.

“But the day will not come when the rabble are reduced to irrelevancy, until we have made enough sacrifices. Order, discipline and consistency are goods that cannot be bought with credits or convincing smiles. Throughout the history of the galaxy, nothing good or worthwhile has been brought to the people without sacrifice. And in our galaxy, order is and will be the greatest of all goods, and the most difficult of all goods to bring. Therefore, it will require sacrifice on a similar scale.

“In closing,” he said, pulling a small datapad from his belt, “I will repeat a portion of the conversation I had today with the father of Ensign S’Vip via subspace radio: ‘There are many ways for an Imperial Pilot to die,’ he said. ‘But I can think of no greater honor than for my son to die defending the ideals of the Empire: Order, Accomplishment, and Progress. My son died defending all three.’

He replaced the datapad on his belt, placed both hands on the podium, and looked at the cadets with steel grey eyes. “Ensigns Porkins and S’Vip have led our way, showing us the selfless dedication needed to bring these goods to our galaxy. May all of us learn from their examples, and follow willingly in their footsteps when the Empire has need of our own deaths.”

Commodore Bast stepped down, taking a seat in the front row. Shea Hublin, looking tired, stood up in his place. “We now will honor our fallen comrades as best we can, by getting back to work. The duty roster remains the same, the training schedule remains the same, and we remain the same. All of us, from the lowly astromech droid to the highest ranks among the Emperor, must and will remain working, producing and completing on schedule. The remains of our fallen comrades will be forthwith remanded to the custody of space, now that their families have been informed of their passing. The only other announcement: Cadet Sanddancer, meet with me, and Flight Senior Eccles with Lieutenant Solo after the conclusion of the ceremony. That is all.”

Dav looked at Jada. She hadn’t been particularly close to Porkins, and hadn’t liked S’Vip at all. But she’d been making a brave attempt to keep from crying at the ceremony. He looked at the other members of Four Flight who had gathered together in the same section of the seating area. Whereas the other three flights were scattered in different places among other groups of friends, the remaining twenty-Seven members of Four Flight were all together, side by side, bonded together better than others were.

TO BE CONTINUED....