Tell the Truth, Kaist/Chapter Three

Chapter Three

"In totalitarian regimes and police states obedience is the demanded virtue. Citizenship and non-citizenship, too, in such polities bestows this mandate. Eventually, however, those in power are caught in their own illusion and equate obedience with loyalty. Thus dissidence, perceived or real, is called treachery. When this occurs no defense is acceptable, not even loyalty. We know this most recently from the New Order, but the Imperial Dominion of Eskhar is doing its best to prove it again."

- HNN Eskhar Politics file

“No, there’s no need, lieutenant,” said Ardel laying his hand on Ferrin’s shoulder, a gesture of paternal camaraderie learned long ago at the Imperial Academy. Not official protocol, perhaps, but an unshakable tradition handed down from the Old Republic officers corps. For all its protest otherwise the New Order was not very new. “I’ll handle the transcription. You may go now.”

“My shift isn’t done yet, sir,” replied the young lieutenant stiffly. “Besides, it’s my job. I’m your adjunct.”

Ardel sighed. Ferrin was so proper sometimes it became irritating. Maybe being so gave the man something concrete to which to cling amidst the Galaxy’s madness. Or maybe Ferrin was just born that way. “Might I remind you, Lieutenant, I’m your superior officer?”

Ferrin’s eyes narrowed. “You’re ordering me to leave, sir?”

There followed the slightest trace of a smile tugging at the corner of Ardel’s mouth, relenting so quickly it was only a ghostly twitch. “Your not transcribing another sheet of flimsiplast into a datafile won’t hurt the war effort.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“You’re very welcome. Now go and do whatever it is you do off-duty. Oh, and enjoy the respite. That’s an order, too.”

“Yes sir.”

When Ferrin was gone, Ardel shook his head disappointingly. Such a shame, such a shame. The boy was definitely not the brightest nerf in the herd, but he was loyal. This made him emblematic in Ardel’s mind of the masses whose souls were Ardel’s to manipulate. Love this, hate that. Fight this, die for that. Of course, none were exempt from indoctrination&mdash;propaganda was inevitable. In fact, this war existed because the New Republic’s masses were themselves indoctrinated, fed propaganda saying democracy was good and empire was bad. In fact...

''No, enough of this, Ardel. You serve what you love as do they. There is reason for both, excuse for neither.''

He sat himself at Ferrin’s desk and examined the flimsi sheets. Requisition forms. For another shipment of flimsiplast ironically enough. He had begged permission to delegate such mundane requisitions to computers, but no, computers could be sliced, they said. Human involvement was securer. Obviously, they had never served on Kejim. Ardel winced at the memory and tenderly touched his scar. Never again would he accept loan to another Imperial faction. Solidarity be damned.

Ardel meticulously filled in the blanks where necessary. Name here, department there. Code there, account number here. Date according to the Galactic Standard Calendar here, according to the local calendar there. Finally, he was done. He placed the sheets under a holocam and recorded their images one at a time. Now to verify the coding, backup the files, and transmit copies to...no, wait, he had forgotten to sign them. And the calendar dates were in each other’s blanks. Time to begin again.

&mdash; &mdash; &mdash;

Lieutenant Enrich Ferrin walked silently from Ardel’s office. He hit the door release and listened to pneumatics close the aperture behind him. Resuming his pace, he departed the area for the more accommodating environment of the staff lounge. Not much of a lounge, really. More of a break room. It was not as if he had elsewhere to go, Fort Tornal being staunchly minimalist in regards to creature comforts. Well, not just Fort Tornal, but every Imperial base, except the ones captured from the New Republic, of course. Those were veritable recreation centers, so he was told.

As he walked, his mind strayed to the old man he had just left. There were three kinds of officers, Ferrin knew. First were elitists, dismissive with a mild condescension for those poor unfortunates unable to share their ennobling positions. Second were bullies, belligerent thugs who reveled in power and used it, too. Colonel Ardel was the third kind, those for whom the chain of command was designed. Love them or loathe them, they did their job and did it well, doing whatever their position required. Colonel Ardel, however, was also weak. It was not flaw for which he was responsible, he was just old, too old.

This fact reassured Ferrin that his choice was correct. It was nothing personal. It was correct. He would show them he was loyal.

He entered the lounge and went to the caf distiller from which he acquired a suitably hot cup of the beverage. Nursing it carefully in his hands to keep from spilling, he sat down at one of the tables. No one else was about, which was not unusual for this time of night. He sipped at his caf, gingerly for it was hot, steaming hot. He sipped and he thought.

When the man had first come, what struck Ferrin most were his eyes. They were the eyes of a man who could do anything, who would do anything. They were the eyes, as it transpired, of an ESCO agent. “I need your help,” Ferrin had been told. The man had explained to him how the Imperial Dominion was only as strong as its citizens were loyal. However, there was rot within the Imperial Dominion, disloyal rot. It had to be expunged. Ferrin’s loyalty was unquestionable, the man had said, so Ferrin could help him.

“What can I do?” Ferrin had asked, in response to which the man had smiled a curious smile. “Watch,” he had answered. ''“Watch and wait. And keep me informed. There will be a woman coming, a New Republic woman. I want to know what your colonel does.” Ferrin had asked about the woman, but the man had only shaken his head and said, “One of my friends will handle that.”''

So Ferrin had watched and informed, feeding information on Ardel to ESCO. His commander was not disloyal, the man assured Ferrin. No, after Ardel’s long years of service only a fool could think him disloyal. He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. In fact, Ferrin was helping Ardel by informing on him. Ardel’s problem was that he was too trusting. He had made some bad friends, the man had explained. By watching Ardel, Ferrin was watching them.

His comlink lit up and he answered it. “Ferrin here.”

It was the agent. “Lieutenant, are you alone?”

Ferrin glanced towards the door and listened but heard no one coming. “Yes, sir. I’m alone.”

''“Good. Stay that way. I’ll join you momentarily.”''

“Ah, sir,” Ferrin began hesitantly. “I haven’t told you where I am.”

A paternalistic chuckle broadcast from his comlink. ''“Oh, lieutenant, we always know where you are. We’re ESCO. We know where everyone is.”''

Ferrin had no reply to that. If there was one thing Novans knew best, then whatever it was, one could rest assured ESCO knew it better. When the agent arrived Ferrin was surprised to note he was smiling. Ferrin was unsure, but felt it was a bad sign. He was right.

“Good news, lieutenant,” he said letting his smile split into a less than well meaning grin. “We’re ready to make our move, and we couldn’t have done it without you.”

Ferrin mumbled his appreciation he had been able to help at which the agent’s grin widened significantly.

“Oh, there’s more, lieutenant, there’s more. We like running a clean operation. No needless fifth leg on the walker as it were. Sure, you can find some sort of use for it, but it just isn’t supposed to be there. As it turns out, Ardel is a fifth leg. We’re taking him with us. Just thought you’d like to know.”

Ferrin stared at the man in growing horror. Now he understood. Of course, this was ESCO. “You lied to me,” he said. “You lied.”

The agent adopted a hurt expression. “Lied? I didn’t lie... I just changed my mind.” He gestured and two stormtroopers entered the room. Bowing mockingly towards Ferrin, the agent said to the silent white-armored figures, “Kill him.”

&mdash; &mdash; &mdash;

Ardel heard the shots. His head lifted sharply and his hand reached instinctively for a comlink. “Lt. Ferrin, this is Ardel. Shots have been fired but the alarms haven’t sounded. What’s happening?”

Only static answered him. He tried another channel. More static. His face became impassive and he set down the comlink. Standing up he went into his office and retrieved his subspace transceiver from his desk. Setting it on the floor, he quietly crushed it beneath his boot heel with a swift stamp and a finishing twist. Then he went to sit at his desk and wait.

He did not have long to wait. Well before the door to his office opened the sound of tramping feet and clanking stormtroopers could be heard. Leading the two plastoid-sheathed soldiers was man in an Army uniform of ambiguous rank. His eyes were glinting and a malicious smirk decorated his face. They stamped to an abrupt halt and the man presented a mocking salute.

“Ah, Colonel Ardel, it is truly a delight to meet you,” he said placing his hands on his hips and surveying the room with the manner of well pleased child. “I suppose you’re wondering who I am.”

Ardel eyed him coldly. “No,” he said.

The man switched to an exaggeratedly crestfallen expression. “Colonel, you wound me! No asking who I am? No demanding to know what’s going on? Why, you almost take the fun out of this. Oh, never mind.” He folded his arms and sighed. “Colonel Jordun Ardel, you are under arrest for high treason against the Imperial Dominion of Eskhar.”

Ardel nodded. “I suppose it is your prerogative.”

A good-natured chuckle wholly misplaced with the unpleasant nature of the unnamed man. “There’s a good man, Ardel. You know how this works. Vader knows how many times you were in my shoes doing this very thing. I’d say I hate to be doing this, but truth is, I love my job.”

“I see. And Lt. Ferrin?”

“Ah, now there’s a sad, sad story. Shot five times. Worst case of suicide I’ve ever seen. Now back to business. Your transceiver is where?”

Ardel told him and the man chuckled again. “Oh, Ardel, so exquisitely symbolic. You are a wonderful man, you know that? Now if you don’t mind, do come along. We’ve a shuttle to catch.”

“No, I believe I do mind.” Ardel deftly opened a draw and reached in, the action bringing the stormtrooper’s carbines swinging up in unison. Also, the unnamed man managed to almost instantaneously acquire a holdout blaster from within his tunic.

“Hand out of the drawer, my dear Colonel. Slowly so we can see it.”

Smiling sadly, Ardel obeyed revealing a plasma grenade clenched in his fist. His thumb held the arming button down. “I can’t say it’s been a good life,” he told the man, “but it has been mine.”

The man swore violently and leaped backwards managing to trip and tumble into the outer room as the little object in the colonel’s hand blossomed into a blinding cloud of fire. Even though it was too late them, the two stormtroopers fired, standing their ground like the good automatons they were as plasma burned through the gaps between their armor plates and into their flesh.

Ardel harbored no final thoughts of triumph, no defiant joy in one last victory. He burnt to death too quickly, which was fortunate, for, no matter what holovids said about heroic deaths, they were painful.