7[]
The admiral shivered as he awoke with a start. The past several days—if not longer—had been a blurry delirium. He’d awoken in what he’d guessed was a ship based on the sensations of movement and the humming of engines, but of what kind he couldn’t tell. The dark cell he’d been placed in had only dim glowpanels, recessed into a high ceiling, for illumination. It was featureless aside from a long metal bench for sleeping or sitting and a tiny refresher. The metal walls were scuffed and abraded, but quite solid.
Twice a day, a metal slot would open and a flimsy tray of bland food and a cup of water was delivered. The admiral knew the food was likely drugged, designed to keep him off-balance and woozy, but he ate it anyway. He needed to keep up his strength. The officer briefly considered trying to form a weapon out of the stacked trays and cups, but then realized what he was contemplating and laughed at the idea. He would need more than a few pathetic sheets of plastiboard to make a dent on Whisper.
Judging by the small pile of trays he’d accumulated, their trip had taken four days. The admiral felt the ship decelerating and sat up, blinking back the effects of the drug. A few hours later, the door slid open with a hiss and a creak, pouring in light from the surrounding corridor. Whisper stood there, as implacable as ever, with what appeared to be a stun baton in his hand.
“Get up,” he said.
The admiral blinked back tears against the sudden glare.
“Get up!” Whisper commanded harshly, tapping the admiral’s knee with the baton.
A painful jolt of energy brought the desired effect. Staggering forward, the prisoner was led out through a well-lit but otherwise featureless corridor and down a ramp onto a metal deck. The hangar he found himself in was also empty and bare. The floor was scuffed but polished and there was no obvious detail or insignia or even any other sound aside from his and Whisper’s footsteps. A cylindrical protrusion in the wall was the only remarkable feature in the otherwise plain three-sided box of a room, and it was toward this that Whisper led him. As they drew closer, the admiral saw it was a door of some sort, possibly to a turbolift. It slid open as they approached.
“Inside,” Whisper commanded.
The admiral wordlessly complied. The door slid shut behind him. Whisper did not follow and his suspicions were confirmed as he felt his stomach lurch from acceleration. It was a turbolift, and if he had to guess, it was taking him down. He did not know where he was or where he was going. After several minutes, the door finally slid open, admitting the admiral into a large room.
It was simply but elegantly furnished. Twisted trunks of Cardooine elderwood trees greeted him from large urns flanking the door, their fragrant scent and dark leaves a stark contrast to Whisper’s sterile confines. One side wall held a giant framed image of the galaxy, moving and turning slowly, while the other was decorated with several pieces of abstract art. A long, slender carpet led from the door to a wide table on a dais. Twelve chairs were seated around the table, tall constructions of ebony wood. Glowing light fixtures behind the table cast the solitary, seated individual into shadow.
“Welcome, Admiral. Please come in,” boomed a rich, stentorian voice of a man confident in his own authority.
The admiral slowly made his way forward. As he drew near, the features of his host became evident. He was no Human; his blue skin and red eyes were clear evidence of that, but humanoid enough. The man wore a black uniform with a severe military cut. Dark hair several centimeters long, split evenly down the middle and parted with precision, framed dark eyebrows. Yet the most curious thing about the man was that his right hand was covered by an exquisitely-crafted metal gauntlet with intricate tracery and scrollwork. Either he’d lost the limb or wore an intricate glove.
The admiral slowly made his way over to a chair and sat down warily.
“Are you hungry?” his host asked him.
Surveying the table, Admiral Sakantos realized there were several dishes before him, dark platters laden with some kind of cold jelly or pudding, bread, and dried fruit. In fact, the admiral was quite hungry—Whisper hadn’t exactly feasted him.
“Please, help yourself,” his host said. “It is simple fare, but filling.”
The admiral complied, taking a piece of the bread and spreading some of the unidentifiable jelly on it.
“My name is Thral’tierno’rantix,” the alien informed him. “I am the head of the Grasp of Order. Most Humans in my employ find it easier to call me Lord Tierno.”
The admiral froze as his host held up his right hand, closing the metallic gauntlet into a fist. Slowly, he set down the piece of bread, but retained the small spreading knife.
“The surprise on your face tells me you were not aware of my identity or your current predicament. Good. That means all has proceeded as planned.”
Tierno caught sight of the knife still held in Sakantos’s hand and gave a disapproving frown.
“Not unexpected, but completely futile,” he said. “Please don’t mock my generosity as a host by attempting something foolish, Admiral.”
“Like what?” the admiral growled.
Tierno stood up, clasping his arms behind his back and pacing a moment before answering.
“I introduced myself so that we could discuss matters with the appropriate perspective, like civilized beings with great authority in our respective organizations. I believe you consider yourself a statesman, Admiral? Then let us speak as one statesman to another.”
“Normally, statesmen don’t kidnap others for such discussions,” the admiral countered.
“Indeed, but that’s hardly the fulcrum on which our conversations will balance,” Tierno returned.
“And what is?” the admiral replied, tiring of being toyed with by his host. “Why am I here?”
“To discuss something of great importance,” Tierno told him. “Because I believe you are the perfect individual through which to negotiate the annexation of the Five Worlds.”
The admiral snorted in reply.
“Then you don’t know that much about me. I’ve been one of the strongest advocates for defending our sovereignty through a revitalized military.”
A thin smile played across Tierno’s lips.
“That is precisely why you are the ideal emissary for my message.”
“You think I would willingly betray my nation to you? Even if you are the head of the Grasp, I’d die first.”
Tierno regarded him calmly.
“Do you consider yourself rational, Admiral?”
The admiral was silent for a moment.
“It’s a fair question,” the alien told him. “Trust me, I have more sources inside the Five Worlds Defense Force. Knowing how you think is hardly an intelligence coup for the Grasp, particularly since you’re quite removed from command.”
The admiral remained silent, not wanting to cooperate with this man. Even though his captor had adopted a pretense of civility, the admiral felt increasingly aware of his imprisonment. Tierno was toying with him, and he hated being toyed with. He would simply refuse to cooperate.
“Admiral Sakantos, this is most tiresome,” Tierno stated flatly. “We can discuss matters like civilized beings, or I will simply launch an orbital strike on the Corellian military academy. I would prefer to avoid that.”
The admiral winced. His adversary’s casual ruthlessness was not to be underestimated. If the Five Worlds Defense Force was as compromised as Tierno insinuated, then it would be possible to launch a surprise assault on the academy. Thousands of cadets would die.
“Yes, I consider myself rational,” the admiral admitted begrudgingly. “Leave the academy alone.”
“Oh, indeed,” Lord Tierno replied. “I thought as much. No being could have risen to such high rank within the Five Worlds Defense Force without the spine needed to order thousands to their deaths—but not needlessly.”
“It’s part of command,” the admiral answered.
“A part we both understand, you and I,” Tierno told him. “We have that in common. That is why I believe that, if you were shown the hopelessness of armed resistance and the relative tranquility in which people on Grasp-administered planets live, you would advocate for annexation of the Five Worlds. What more persuasive testimony could I ask for than someone so previously opposed to such an idea?”
“You’re wasting your time,” the admiral growled.
That taunting smile played over Tierno’s lips again.
“I expected such defiance. Duty is a strong master,” he said. “So is pride. Yet in the end, the open-minded individual will find that neither is a compelling reason for futility.”
“Many a war has been won by the underdog,” the admiral countered. “Purely rational and logical analysis often fails to explain history. The years are littered with the ruins of empires who thought themselves unstoppable.”
Tierno’s eyes glittered coldly.
“History is written by the victors, Admiral. Are you certain you’re on the winning side?”