Compensation: Chapter II

[Archivist's note: for the sake of not putting off some of the more loyal readers, I have omitted the initial part of this section of the segment, which consisted of little more than complaints about the quality of seating arrangements on navy transports, more complaints regarding the food, more complaints regarding the restroom facilities, and fairly distasteful references to Emperor Palpatine’s underwear].

Well, after travelling through hyperspace through hours, having to watch the paint on the wall peel as we stopped off at some outpost for supplies, and the pilot refusing to listen to my requests to turn the music he was listening to (as much as one can quantify rapid tapping sounds as music), I was not in the best of moods as we arrived at the Sakmar Expanse. Well, to be frank, I can count the number of times I’ve been in a good mood that I can remember on a Hutt’s legs, but I’m digressing.

I decided to head to the cockpit and take a look at this great expanse of nothing that even a terminally addled Geonosian would find boring. Just how I imagined it—your average starfield, with the only thing distinguishing it being a white dwarf star burning a distance away.

“We’ll be at our destination shortly.” Announced the pilot, turning down his music (I distinctly remember uttering a thanks to the Emperor for that).

“What are we carrying, by the way?” I asked. Might as well make conversation, I thought.

“Vital military supplies. At least, that’s what I’m told.” Sighed the pilot as we adjusted our heading.

“Military supplies?” I uttered. Considering that at the time the nearest known concentration of rebel element was lightyears away, and that the few species worthy of note in the Expanse would throw themselves into a black hole or haggle with a Jawa if one idiot with a blaster entered their presence, I couldn’t understand why anyone would want military supplies here. Could this Moff be trying secession or something, I thought. If that be the case, then the Navy would do best to send over a Star Destroyer or two to knock some sense into his head. Preferably while melting the crust he was standing on in the process.

As I drifted off, I looked up as we began to approach something very large ahead of us. Rubbing my eyes, it turned out to be a very long and thin skeletal structure stretching into space as far as the eye could see. A few frigates were visible patrolling near it, along with various construction ships. My first impression amounted to: what the flying kriff?

My second impression, followed shortly thereafter, went thusly: what the flying holy name of Palpatine is that?

I mean, the thing was so large, it looked stupid. Basically take a Star Destroyer, and stretch out to utterly ludicrous lengths. I checked local records on my personal datapad—nope, this thing definitely wasn’t authorized, and I think I know understood where all that ore went.

“Dear gods above.” Muttered the pilot as we approached it. I envied him—at least he was able to translate his sentiment into coherent speech, unlike me. At best, I was able to emit a burbling sound that sounded like a droid being dunked in water while being furiously attacked with a scrubber.

“Freighter IFS-231, you have been identified and cleared for approach. Please standby while tractor beams move you into the right docking area.” A voice came from the communications speakers as he ship drifted into tractor-beam induced autopilot. We were soon entering a hangar at the very rear of the thing, which unlike the rest looked comparatively complete.

Once landing procedures were completed, I stormed down the ramp as it lowered, Vader-style, only to break out into violent coughs from the hydraulic exhaust engulfing it. I wasn’t too embarrassed, as the welcoming committee was pathetic—a single, spotty, ginger-haired engineer whose uniform hadn’t been ironed at least since the last Sith War and a couple of droids demonstrating the competence of the local technicians by repeatedly driving into a wall.

“I am Varris Tralen of the Imperial Political Division.” I boomed, trying to sound impressive, but not drinking anything for hours hampers your voice a bit. So, the effect was somewhat lesser than I hoped. “By the powers bestowed upon me by the Imperial government, I hereby demand to meet with Moff Sh’mukk. I also demand to know: what the frak is this...thing?”

“We call it the Compensator.” Said the engineer in an immensely bored voice. “I’m sure the Moff can explain things to you.” He set off very slowly down the hangar. I followed.

“Can you tell me more about it?” I asked.

“Tell you about it? Brain the size of a planet, and they ask me to greet the supply ship and tell the occupants about this place?” he moaned. “What’s there to tell? It’s a giant ship. All there is to it.”

“Yes, but surely Palpatine would have ordered such a thing. If the Moff has just gone and done it of his own accord...”

“Oh, don’t get me started on Moffs.” I wondered if this was a violation of the unwarranted criticism laws, but I was so tired that I just played along. “Prancing about in their uniforms, complaining...”

He went on like this for what felt like several hours as we shuffled through the hangar at a pace of an asthmatic AT-AT with some heavy shopping. Eventually, I gave up on following him and gestured for Weylon to follow as I entered a corridor and began walking down it. In retrospect, I should have realised that my knowledge of this ship’s interior was not the best, but when you’re in dire need of at least sixty litres of coffee, what can you do?

I soon became aware of a loud commotion as I wondered through the maze of identical, badly-cleaned corridors with chewing gun stuck in every crevasse and the floors apparently buffed by a deranged old woman with a cutting knife. Following a sign marked, worryingly enough, ‘abandon hope all ye who enter here’, I passed through a set of bulkhead doors with some sort of emblem painted onto them, apparently by an Ewok with severe muscle spasms.

I found myself o a balcony overlooking what I guessed was the main reactor—except it looked so badly built and unsteady that a Trandoshan would be embarrassed by that workmanship. What really drew my attention was the presence of a man in engineer uniforms standing on a hover-platform addressing a large crowd of engineers, his voice booming out of speakers and his face projected onto the walls of this huge reactor chamber.

“I am Jon Dorshak, Emperor of the Kingdom of Reak’torr!” he bellowed. “All will bend the knee before me! Submit yourselves to my will, and I guarantee that soon we shall be in possession of the fries and toilet paper we so richly deserve!”

“Everyone’s cracked.” The spotted engineer appeared behind me, causing me to jump. “I’ll take you up to the Moff—he can explain things better. Let’s just say that empty space is not good for the mind.”

That is an understatement, I thought.