As the man…or, the man-thing they called Darth Vader entered the room and fixed the pure black, shaded eyes of his helmet’s mask on her, something that had already sparked within her fanned into flame:

Hatred.

With the death of her family and the loss of her farm, Jada had lost the very thing that had motivated her to join the Empire in the first place. And now, with Vader there, she found something in her to bring back her willingness to fly and fight for the Empire.

Rebels killed her family. She would kill rebels. She’d shoot down their ships, blast them hand to hand, bash their heads in with rocks if she had too.

Come to think of it, the thought came to her, bashing their heads in with something heavy would actually be more satisfying. She felt pleasure in her heart, at the thought of feeling their skulls cracking beneath her hands. Or perhaps choking them, feeling the life drain from their bodies as…

“Hatred runs strong in this one,” Vader said, his voice amplified through his breathing mask as he looked at her.

“She is one of our more promising cadets,” Bast said, “and she distinguished herself most handsomely today.”

“Deeds alone do not make a great man,” Vader said, his eyes still on Jada. Jada wanted to shrink into herself when he fixed his gaze on her. But when she let her anger flow at the rebels, he suddenly didn't seem quite so intimidating.

“Remember, cadet,” Vader continued, “anger leads to hatred. Hatred leads to action. Action, and action alone, leads to power.”

“You would do well to listen to the words of Lord Vader,” said Commodore Bast, apparently immune to the cold fear this creature’s presence engendered. Even Lieutenant Hublin, normally unflappable even in the face of laser fire, looked a bit nervous, but Bast had his cold blue eyes focused on Jada.

Then, as suddenly as he’d focused on Jada, Vader turned from her and shifted his interest. “Have you been successful at finding those who attempted to assassinate me?”

“Yes, Lord Vader. We traced them to a base on a sizable asteroid sunward of the Gani system. We plan to pursue them with a bombing raid after you have successfully moved on to your destination.”

“Sir?” Jada said. She’d managed to purge all traces of sadness, upset and fear from her voice.

“Cadet?” Bast said, clearly annoyed.

“Permission to lead the bombing raid?”

#

Dav sat slumped in a chair, facing the cantina wall. He had a glass of red liquid in his hand, and his eyes switched from shutting to looking at the blank wall over and over again.

“Hello, Eccles,” said a voice behind him.

Eccles turned just enough to see who was there. It was Lieutenant Solo.

“Sir,” Dav said, forgetting to get up.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Solo sat down beside him, and raised his hand, making a number of odd gestures with his fingers at the barkeep.

“What was that?” Dav asked.

“You pick it up when you travel enough. Most bartenders know the language. I told him what I wanted to drink, and offered him a few extra credits if he brought it to me rather than made me get up for it. You’re looking awful Eccles.”

“I don’t feel so good. By the way, the bartender over at that station we stopped at? He knew you and he sent his greetings.”

Solo smiled “Zan. Wish I’d had the chance to stop by, but there were too many things to do. As for feeling bad, Eccles, you should. Men died. If you were ready to go carousing, I’d be even more worried.”

“You, sir?”

“Yes, ‘me, sir.’ We all go through it, Eccles. Every one of us.” Solo paused to take his drink as the barkeep delivered it. “Still,” he continued after drinking a deep draught of the red fluid in the glass, “you did well, despite that. You’re the first Four Flighter who looks like he’s headed for the fast-track to command, if you have a few more missions go like that one.”

“Like that one? Sir, we lost a third of our group, if you count Gaab.”

“And those are odds that the Empire is just fine with, Cadet Eccles. You and I lost men today. It happens. There will be others. But tell me something: how would you want Porkins to be if he were Flight Senior, and you died instead?”

Dav thought for a second.

“That’s not a rhetorical question, Eccles. I want an answer.”

“Yes sir. It’s just that I…well, I’d like him and the rest of the Flight to miss me, actually. For a little while at least. I’d like them to notice I’ve been gone.”

“But would you want Porkins to mourn you for months, years? Would you want Porkins to start drinking so much that he washed out and became something lowly, way below his potential?”

“No,” Dav said, wrinkling his nose. “That’d be stupid. I’m not worth someone throwing their whole life away.”

“Good. Because the next few days are going to be critical, Eccles. You need to remember everything good that happened today. I heard from Zan over the comm about that cheer you all raised in the cantina on the floating city. Remember that? Keep remembering that. You were surprised by an ambush that would have felled even experienced pilots, but you came out alive. Remember that. That you got a commendation on your record for bravery- I just got it over the comm. Remember that. All those good things, remember those. There’s no disrespect to Porkins or S’Vip in that. Gaab…well, the less you think about him, the better. None of us saw that coming. But other men will die under your command, and there’s nothing you can do about it. All you can do is adapt to the situation, and keep moving on with your life. Understand?”

“Yes sir,” Dav said, staring at the liquid in his glass.

“Good,” said Solo, knocking back the last drops of his own drink. “Carry on, and get some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning as we get ready for the bombing run.” His comm went off and he checked his small wrist datapad. “Well, it seems that Hublin and I will command the run, but Sanddancer will be flying lead.”

“Jada?” said Eccles. “Why? I’ve got ‘way higher scores than her in the sims. And I’m Flight Senior besides.”

“No idea. But it comes from whatever mucky-muck we saved today. I guess he’s got more pull than Bast or Ozzel. They’d both named you. Still, when we reach the target, you’ll be driving that overgrown, clunky bus of a bomber, but she’ll be the one dropping the bombs. Good with you, Flight Senior?”

“Fine by me, Sir.”

“Carry on, then,” Solo said with a slight nod. Dav took the signal, quickly slipping off the bar stool to a standing position and saluted. Solo returned the salute and left.

Dav sat for a few more minutes on his own before he noticed the cantina was largely empty. Why, he wondered, weren’t there more people in here like himself? Maybe folks wanted to be on their own after the funeral.

#

...TO BE CONTINUED...

Freddik was turning purple as his closed windpipe still refused to let air into his lungs.