Tell the Truth, Kaist/Chapter Four

Chapter Four

"Politics the Imperial Remnant are dangerous, and often deadly. Nowhere is this more evident than in the Imperial Dominion of Eskhar. It is no exaggeration to say what is branded criminal or duplicitous in other governments is, for Eskhar, standard procedure. Nevertheless, somehow the Dominion remains functioning, an insult to political scientists everywhere."

- HNN Eskhar Politics file

The Imperial Dominion of Eskhar apologized, and its outrage matched, if not exceeded, Nadali’s own. The bomber would be found, the bomber would be questioned, and the bomber would face justice. Such, at least, was the gist of the communiqués Nadali continued to receive. In fact, Imperial indignation seemed truly authentic. All throughout the journalist’s medical checks and afterward, various officers and spokesmen for their regiments came to express their personal apologies and voice their anger.

It was almost an absurd reversal of the situation. Before the blast, individual Imperials wanted little or nothing to do with her, committed as they were to mistrusting outsiders. In trustworthiness, the sensationalist and bleeding heart foreign press ranked no higher than the New Republic itself, was the prevailing opinion. However, now someone had dared act on that opposition without general consent, their honor was impugned. Nothing of the kind would happen again, swore one Intelligence officer, for he would, himself, kill whoever next sought to harm her.

Even the otherwise reclusive Rulph Obrikien made an appearance in the medical ward. "You lived," he commented in a perfectly controlled voice revealing no positive or negative opinions about the matter.

"Yes," Nadali agreed, "and I’m glad of it."

Rulph hesitated. Finally, he added, "For what it’s worth, the Empire doesn’t kill guests. Ever."

Sure it doesn’t, and I’m your Emperor reincarnated. But while she might think it, Nadali had the tact to not point out the Empire had, in fact, just tried to kill her. "Thank you, I think," she said instead.

And that had been that, after which followed nothing. It was, Nadali realized, that part of war so little remembered. Not the carnage, not the destruction, not the fleeting moments of humanity given true meaning by contrasting the banality of death. It was long moments of inaction and tedium. It was the waiting.

From Camp Fallen, the 1658th was dispatched to the planet Romendo, and then sent to Fort Kenneth. There it awaited a campaign to be assigned. It was during these few days wait that the journalist received an unconvincing Intelligence report to the effect that the investigation of her bombing was meeting no success. Nadali scoffed at the report and disposed of it. She had things of her own to do. She had been pursuing an investigation of her own. Namely, learning what more she could of her hosts. Eskhar’s local Holonet was reticent on the subject, but certain facts remained.

The 1658th Stormtrooper Division was unique. Alone in the region it remained, last of the Clone Wars units&mdash;cloneless, however, since some years before Endor. In a wild chapter Imperial historians would rather forget, its 8,000 troopers had gone rogue during the Imperial Civil War. The disaster at Eurlak II should have finished them, but, ranks depleted, they signed on with the Imperial Dominion of Eskhar. Eskhar’s shadowy cabal, GeSad, anxious to exploit the division’s name and symbolism, preserved it. There would be no disbandment for the 1658th. Instead, it was patched up to strength with Eskhar’s government troopers and Army conscripts.

So much for history. As for now, the replenishing of ranks had been poorly executed. Like all Remnant states, Eskhar suffered what outsiders mockingly called the Imperial Exclusion Factor. Essentially, it meant without an emperor’s durasteel fist to bind them together, Imperials turned on each other. One rift, for obvious reasons, fell between the Army and Stormtrooper Corps. Government troopers, themselves stormtroopers, blended well enough with the 1658th. Not so the Army conscripts. Decades of coups, revolts, and countercoups had bred mistrust.

Except for some training exercises, the combined forces at Fort Kenneth remained idle. Nadali herself was not idle because for the first time she was given complete freedom of movement. And more importantly, freedom to interview. However, with her, in light of recent events, was to be an escort. It turned out to be Shiridis.

As the journalist worked her way through the fort&mdash;its barracks, badly maintained recreational halls, and officers’ clubs with their untalented entertainers&mdash;the partisans within the 1658th became apparent.

The Army conscripts were a confused lot who, at heart, were still civilians. Pressed into service, and only by chance sent for stormtroopers, they were men, and some women, who believed in the New Order but secretly remained wary of their government.

However, those stormtroopers in black from the first were paradoxes. Disillusioned, fanatical, jaded, convicted, apolitical, patriotic, or usually all these, they were an aloof brotherhood. Sometimes it was possible to see in their faces the butchers of prisoners and civilians their reputation proclaimed them. Sometimes a spark of sentimentalism in their behavior made it impossible.

For Nadali, her first insight into Rulph Obrikien, apparently paragon of these deficiencies, was eagerly awaited.

Later that day, Nadali was outside watching Romendo’s perpetual auroras when Shiridis returned.

"Done, Kaist," the Imperial announced, hiking a thumb behind her. "I got us a visit to the armories. Don’t know why you want to go. Just remember no touching or milipol will have fits."

Nadali could not help feeling a little surprise. Although these armories were no sensitive location, even with Eskhar’s newfound cooperative spirit, she had expected refusal. "Wasn’t there trouble?"

"Nah. Uh, well, okay, just a little."

"How little are we talking about?"

"I got the pass," the Novan explained. "The log wouldn’t go through though. Said the building was under lockdown. Something about materiel malfunctions. So the deskie used his major’s override code."

Drawing a sharp breath, Nadali said, "He did that? Isn’t that..."

"...criminal? Yeah, but the place wasn’t supposed to be locked down anyway. Just think of it as a favor to the techs." Shiridis seemed unaware, or indifferent, how great a breach of command she and her deskwork friend had made. But then again, no organization of millions was without a bit of honest corruption.

Nadali laughed. "You’re a terrible person, Shiridis."

To which Shiridis astutely replied, "I’m Imperial. It comes with the job."

&mdash; &mdash; &mdash;

Shiridis was helpful, very helpful. She named what they saw and offered commentary only a familiar user could provide.

"That's the T-21, grand old rifle. Tough recoil but has a good rate-of-fire. Decent weight for its kind 'cept you need a power generator for sustained fire. Saved us bas... uh, soldiers in a tight spot hundreds of times over. Bad in urban fights, though. Barrel is too long, see? We still have E-11 rifles, too, although they’re getting on in years. Can’t hit much. Still, can't argue with durability. Reps I've seen&mdash;that’s what we call New Republic soldiers if you’re interested&mdash;don’t have comparable. DLT assault rifles and A295s, preferably grenade launcher attachment, are the best. A280s still pack a wallop, especially against armor suits. Hutt-flamers we call ‘em. Don’t ask. Not a pretty story."

Nadali saw an open crate with what looked to be a BlasTech Industries emblem painted on. It was full of DC-15S and DC-15A blasters. "There are quite a few older models here," she noted.

Shiridis sniffed dismissively. "Kaist," she said, "where’d you think vintage arms went? Museums? Our ordnance teams live for thrift, the kekz. As for those DXR-6s, don’t ask me how they got here. I’m just a grunt who does what her bosses say. No one tells me those things and I don’t ask."

Suddenly, the stormtrooper stopped, tilting her head and listening. Her nose wrinkled in disgust. "Son of a motherless..."

Nadali shifted her posture suspiciously, ready to expect the worst since her bombing. "What?"

"Someone’s coming."

The armory was divided into large rooms with sealed doors between them. Along the base of the walls air ducts were interspersed, although their function was limited by the stacks of crates and boxes. Through one, from the adjoining room, came the sound of a door opening and voices approaching. One was instantly recognizable as stormtrooper Major Rulph Obrikien. The other belonged to a career officer. Something in this second man’s voice indicated he, too, was a combat soldier, not a political or naval appointee.

"...pick here?"

"Relax, Rulph. Today’s roster leaves this building alone."

"Rosters change."

"I said relax. The roster is fine. Fine as in I wrote it. You’re paranoid."

"With GeSad’s agents everywhere, it keeps me alive."

"Not much of a life."

"This coming from the man who came here under an assumed name on a tramp freighter."

"Shut up."

As the two men continued nearing, Nadali glanced to Shiridis. The other woman gestured they move away with a jerk of her head. True, their pass was authentic, but just how it had been gained, Nadali did not know and Shiridis seemed not to trust.

The officer growled he would not shut up. Then, to the exultant relief of Nadali, his footsteps stopped. "I’m going to talk now, Rulph," he said. "I’m going to talk, and you’re going to listen. Dammit! You are going to listen! We’re at war&mdash;"

"So I hear," interrupted Rulph.

"Sarcasm, Rulph? How droll. We’re at war. Imperial honor. Rights of independence. Prit un felterwe kendonigat and the rest! We’ve had war after war since the Clone Wars. Two generations of Novans shed their blood and for what? You can’t measure the value of a lost generation. Well, here is something you haven’t heard. Something our wonderful High Council won’t even let the Erechadt know. This war is lost&mdash;we’re beaten!"

Both Nadali and Shiridis froze, all thought of departure scoured from their minds. Beaten? Imperials never admitted defeat, at least not publicly. It was one of their irreversible flaws, remaining so because to cede to the subsequent dishonor was apparently to fail the whole New Order. And, so said the intelligentsia, to accept such failure was to cease being Imperial. Withdraw, retrench, but never retreat, never surrender.

Nadali’s ears perked, and with one hand she raised the audio reception on her camera. Imperials, some more than others, had made certain strides towards civil liberties, but a free press was not among them. Dissent is unpatriotic was their creed.

"Tell me something new," said Rulph. "Hope survives because no one is willing to contemplate defeat. Anyone who talks about defeat is bad for morale, so says GeSad."

"Ever entertained the thought we’re on the wrong side?"

"That’s how defectors talk," replied Rulph coldly, the sudden frigidity prickling from his voice like the cracking of icy durasteel thrust into a furnace.

"Kill that thought right now because I’m not one. Politics is a mad game, and we Novans are second to none. Besides, this is truth. It comes from high up."

"GeSad..."

"Don’t be a fool. That lot wouldn’t share information with the rest of us if the Emperor himself returned, shoved grenades in their mouths, and set them off. Look, we have the resources to prolong the fighting for another six months. Eight with luck. Your kind doesn’t see it because GeSad siphons first pick for the Corps. You’re their favorites, after all.

"What about those reports I shared from the home front? Rations are cut down to forty-five percent, and with our space routes mined or blockaded there’s nothing we can do. Our allies are gone except for Miraloa, and we’re the ones supporting her. Cathary surrendered nine days ago. Agriculture is dead, our industries are being bombed or starved into obliteration, our troops are spread thin, and our populace is devastated!

"It’s like this, Rulph. The New Republic is taking us down one planet at a time. And then there’s those aliens of theirs baying for our blood. Forget about the Empire for a moment. It’s a dream now. This is about Eskhar. This is about home. Four hundred thousand civilians died when we lost Movane, all because GeSad wouldn’t allow evacuations before the bombardment. Bad for morale, they said. Protecting the homeworlds is one thing, but what GeSad is doing is just plain criminal!"

Rulph balked as if uncertain of something. "I don’t want this," he said wretchedly. "Tell a senator. Tell the generals. Tell the whole Council, but don’t tell me. There’s nothing I can do about it. You shouldn’t have come here."

"Bah! You can help do something about it. More than you like. You’re a lever, Rulph, a lever. Remember, this is the 1658th we’re talking about."

"Keep them out of this!"

"Not a chance, Rulph! Give me the 1658th and in one month I can have twelve army groups at my beck and call!"

What followed was a longer silence, so still as to muffle heartbeats and choke breaths. When Rulph spoke again, his voice could have punctured reinforced permacrete. "You want me to join a coup to overthrow the Council..."

"No, we’re after the true foe this time... GeSad!" Perhaps because Rulph did not respond to his enthusiasm, the officer quieted. "This could be big, Rulph," he said, "but we need to work together. There are one hundred and eight generals and admirals who have sworn to this, one hundred and eight. I can show you their names, too. Yes, names written. That’s how serious these men are. You won’t report them, I know you. Half our surviving talent is in that list and purging them would force the Erechadt to appoint more Senatorial lackeys."

"The last coup was big, too, and the three before it," said Rulph.

"This one can succeed."

"Tell that to Aldus Sangdu."

"Who was executed, I get it. Look, like I said, you’re a lever. I won’t pretend you’re the key because there’s not enough power in a single Human for any such key. But you can tip the balance for us, just this once."

"If I’m not the key, get someone else. There’s no need for me," said Rulph.

A harsh laugh answered him. "Rulph, in case you haven’t noticed, you’re practically a cult. It’s not a matter of what you are but what others think you are. You have something I don’t, and I want to use it. I need to use it. Eskhar needs to use it."

"No. I serve the elected government of Eskhar. You do, too."

"Hah! No election here is fair."

"Fairness is not the issue. Have you asked yourself why coups happen? Because of precedent! Once you break the system it can never be fixed! We swore an oath!"

"Oaths to butchers are invalid."

"I said no! Betrayal breeds betrayal!"

What followed was an impassioned torrent of oaths in Basic, Novan and other languages. When his outburst ended and his composure was regained, the officer said in a low voice, "You would be like that. Your kind is what makes GeSad and this massacre possible. This coup will happen, but if we fail and GeSad stays, then whatever befalls Eskhar is on your head, too."

"You, Sennel, are a shame to your rank."

"I earned my rank doing what you won’t! I earned it doing what’s best for my boys, what’s best for the Dominion!"

"Leave now, Sennel!"

"I am, but if one word of this conversation reaches Intelligence, I’ll..."

"Get out!"

Thus it ended as suddenly as it began. Footfalls marked the furious departure of the officer. Rulph remained a while longer, equal rage bleeding off him, swirling through every angry inhalation. Then he, too, turned on his heel and stalked off.

Nadali released the breath she had not known she held. It was wrong, all wrong. Eavesdropped conspiracies were stock for fiction, not reality. High General Sennel led 388th Stormweld Force, a hardened elite of three million men. High Generals did not seek to recruit majors for coups, and Sennel had tried. Who, specifically, was Rulph Obrikien?

The journalist reached for her camera which held the whole conversation recorded. Her hand met nothing. Behind her she heard a loud snap. She spun around to see Shiridis holding her camera, a broken film chip between her fingers.

Shiridis spoke, all trace of her usual joviality vanished. "This does not leave this room or I kill you. Understand?"

&mdash; &mdash; &mdash;

Elsewhere in the base, installed before a computer which monitored the scores of cameras and listening devices ESCO surreptitiously managed to incorporate into every facility’s construction, Jaq Puillis sat back pensively. This quite possibly changed everything. Or it quite possibly did not. Eskhar’s politics were unpredictable at best and utterly, wholly, irreparably chaotic at worst. The blue-haired woman was possibly right to hush it, although her reasons were far less foresighted than his. Also, he was desirous of remaining unaligned. It was this which kept him alive, and fortunately this whole situation fell outside his jurisdiction. Unfortunately, although a little revolution now and again was a good thing, it was his duty to report it.

This would take some thinking to decide.