Shadows of our Fathers - 2 BBY

[Silus Xilarian]

Silus gave a slight shrug. "Ok then, I think we're good to go." He looked over at Kyris. "What's the plan?"

Kyris dropped a few items from her desk into a backpack and slung it over her shoulder.

"I have two transports ready to go on the roof. Our boy is cuffed up and sedated in the larger transport. I'll take it to meet with Denhol. You two follow me in the other transport. Once I make the drop, I'll hop in with you and we'll head back to the Relentless."

She gave Silus and Bette time to raise objections and when none were made, she nodded her. "Alright, follow me."

They made their way through the complex, taking several flights of stairs up before they made it to the roof. Before they walked out, Silus leaned over and spoke quietly to Bette.

"You did good today. When we get back, you've got a spot in Storm Squadron. Stick with me and I'll get you the fast track to lieutenant commander. No bullshit"

[Bette Davis]

Her eyes widened a bit at the offer. Storm Squadron was a bit of a parades-and-kissing-babies squadron by reputation, but it was still an honest to goodness TIE fighter squadron in the Imperial Navy.

This could be her chance to get in the cockpit of a fighter.

Maybe her only chance.

”I don’t know what to say to that,” Bette replied slowly, her mind reeling. “Sounds like I’d be stupid to refuse it.”

They walked out onto the rooftop and she could clearly see the two ships - one a light freighter of Corellian make, and the other a Sorosuub yacht. Agent Kyris was about ten steps ahead of them, heading toward the yacht.

Bette slipped her hand into her jacket pocket.

”I just want to thank you, sir. For opening my eyes.”

”What?” Silus turned his head toward her as Bette took his arm and pressed her switchblade against his side.

”If you don’t want to shit into a bag for the rest of your life, you’ll do what I say.” Bette pressed a little, letting him feel the sharpness of the knife as it cut through his shirt.

”Stop right there, Kyris,” she called, adjusting her position so she was mostly behind Xilarian and pushing him forward, the blade visible to the agent. “I’m taking the package from here.

”You two obviously forgot who you’re supposed to be working for. So I won’t feel bad including your deaths in my official report.”

[Silus Xilarian]

Everything happened pretty quickly. One moment they were stepping onto the roof, the next moment Silus was standing there with about three inches of irony shoved against his ribcage. He quickly assessed the situation. Bette didn't have the knife perfectly placed to puncture a lung, but it would definitely puncture something. He could probably elbow her in the temple and that would probably knock her out, but it would probably get him stabbed in the process. For every action he could think of that involved disarming Bette, the logical conclusion was him probably getting stabbed in the ribs. That meant the only thing left in his toolbox was negotiation. He glanced over his shoulder as far as he could as he spoke in a futile attempt to make some sort of eye contact.

"Ok Davis, just calm down, we c...." He was interrupted by Kyris yelling at him. "HOW THE HELL DID SHE GET A KNIFE!?"

As Kyris stalked toward Silus and Bette with absolute murder on her face, Silus felt Bette's grip on his arm tighten and the knife press slightly into his flesh. He kept his voice calm and controlled, but his words had the tiniest aftertaste of desperation to them.

"Nel...this is ok. We sprung a lot on her today. She's just trying to do the right thing. We can all talk this out calmly."

Kyris stopped close enough so they could talk without yelling, but not so close as to spook Bette into action. Her voice dripped with irritation.

"Ok, let's talk. How do you see this playing out...Ensign."

[Bette Davis]

Crap.

“I take whoever it is in that ship,” Bette pointed with her chin, “And I finish the mission. As written.”

Bette, you never actually saw any of the mission notes.

She squashed down the little voice, pushing Silus forward. “Make the wrong move and I’m going to gut him. And I’ll probably scream and blow your cover with those nice gentlemen downstairs. I’m sure they’ll be understanding.”

Bette clenched her fist around a handful of Xilarian’s shirt under his jacket, making sure he walked past Kyris at a relatively safe distance, turning to keep her in front of them as they started walking backwards toward the transports.

Of course, if the defector wasn’t in the ship Kyris had been heading for this was going to be pretty painful. Bette gritted her teeth.

There was no way she was betraying her vow to the Empire, guaranteed promotion or not.

[Silus Xilarian]

Silus breathed a sigh of resignation.

"Nel, back away. She's made up her mind. We can make it up to Denhol some other way."

As they took their first backward steps onto the ramp of the Sorosuub yacht, Silus decided to give it one more go.

"Think about what you're giving up. I know this isn't how you want to earn your way in, but they're always going to hold you back. You deserve your shot. Don't throw your career away over this..."

[Bette Davis]

“I do deserve my shot,” Bette agreed, reaching around his body into his jacket’s left pocket, retrieving the dataslip with the mission brief. She stuffed it into her own pocket, halting his backward movement near the top of the ramp.

Silus felt one last press of the blade, down near his kidney and just enough to make him worry that she’d cut him, and then she was stepping back, away from him.

”I’m going to take it.”

Bette leveled the stun pistol at his back and shot him with the full strength of it. Xilarian’s body locked up as his nerves screamed at him, and he toppled sideways, falling off the ramp to the rooftop. She scrambled to hit the ramp controls, closing up the ship as quickly as she could before dashing toward the cockpit.

On the way there she passed a man, unconscious and tied up securely in the galley. At least that​ hadn’t been a lie.

[Douglas Garrett]

It had been 72 hours since Vice Admiral Garrett was informed of the unusual arrive of Ensign Bette Davis. She'd been sent on an extraction mission along side Commander Silus Xilarian, but the mission had taken a wild turn and at some point Xilarian had been shot. Garrett had seen the reports from both Davis and Xilarian, but he'd yet to decide on a course of action. Instead he'd scheduled a time for Ensign Davis to speak with him in person. On his desk were several datapads, one of which he was reading when Davis was brought in.

Garrett kept his eyes set on the datapad, speaking to Davis without looking at her. His voice had a bit of gravel to it with a slight hint of something mechanical behind it.

"Ensign Davis, come in, have a seat."

[Bette Davis]

72 hours.

72 hours on board the Relentless.

72 hours split between temporary quarters and mess hall, her fate unknown.

72 hours of contemplation.

When she’d arrived Bette had been sure she’d done the right thing. She had been so sure of it before that she had shot a commanding officer in the back and fled Duros. The hyperspace flight to the Relentless had given her ample time to compose a preliminary report, which she had submitted immediately upon her arrival.

72 hours was plenty of time to complete a very thorough after-action report. Bette had used an entire day to make sure she’d gotten everything down and on the record, and had submitted the report within 24 hours. When the second day had passed and no one had come to get her for a debrief, doubt had really started to take hold.

She pictured seeing her father again, on Chandrila. The prospect was not a pleasant one.

The third night onboard the Relentless she wrote a letter to him, trying to explain her actions. How the values he’d raised her with had led her to where she was, returning to the family home.

A failure.

Finally in front of Vice Admiral Garrett, Bette saluted and then took the seat indicated. She tried not to clench her hands in her lap, but her short nails were doing damage to her palms. Nearly every part of her was telling her to just tell him what had happened.

Panic, or patience?

Bette waited for the Vice Admiral to speak.

[Douglas Garrett]

Once Davis had take a seat, Garrett set the datapad down on his desk and sat up straighter in his chair giving Davis a better look at his face. His close cropped beard was stark white save for a bit of black still left in his mustache and just above his chin. It barely hid the scar that ran from his adam's apple to the bottom of his right ear. He leaned forward a bit, resting his forearms on his desk. His left hand absently rubbed at the scarred knuckles of his right hand.

"So Ensign Davis. You'll have to forgive me for your extended stay on my ship. This is a unique situation and I wanted to gather as much information as I could before taking any action. Commander Xilarian required some medical attention when he arrived, so there was a delay in receiving his report."

He paused for a moment to see if Davis would interject, and continued when she didn't.

"So, I've found in my career that when people write things down, you don't always get the clearest sense of what happened. Sometimes when people speak about something out loud, they may remember details that they'd forgotten."

And sometimes their stories change. He let his tone make the implication for him.

"With that being said, Ensign, I would like for you to give me your version of events."

[Bette Davis]

Bette took a deep breath, and began to retell her memories of the mission. It wasn’t word for word for her report, but she’d had a lot of time to think about it.

Maybe too much time.

When she’d finished Bette bit her lip, forcibly unclenched her fists in her lap and stared at the Vice Admiral’s face.

“I tried to act in accordance to Imperial values, sir.”

[Douglas Garrett]

Garrett listened intently as Davis told her side of the story. Even under the stress of the situation, she gave a clear recounting of the events that unfolded. More so, Garrett got a sense of the emotions she felt reliving these events in her mind. One thing that stuck out to him, never once during her statement did she pause to defend her actions, or give extra context. Garrett found that when people had a guilty conscious over something they had done, when asked to recount their deeds, they would immediately start trying to contextualize and defend. Davis also wasn't shy about recounting events that painted her in a less than favorable light. All in all, he found her testimony to be very compelling.

Garrett cleared his throat once Davis was finished and pushed himself back from his desk slightly. He took one of the datapads as he began to speak.

"Thank you for your recollection Ensign. Tell me, would you like to hear what Commander Xilarian had to say about your actions?"

Davis seemed guarded and apprehensive, but she managed to look him square in the eyes and answered, "Yes, sir." He could see her steeling herself for what was about to come. Garrett turned the datapad on and began to read.

"...In summary, Ensign Davis displayed not only a sound tactical mind under intense pressure, but also a strong moral compass. Myself and Agent Kyris presented her with a situation where taking a moral path would not only come at a likely professional cost, but would also place her in immediate personal danger. Ensign Davis took the moral path without hesitation."

Garrett set the datapad down.

"There's more, but that's the heart of it. You're welcome to read it if you like." He slid the datapad across his desk where she could reach it. "I must say, just about any person in your situation would be sitting here today explaining to me why they kept their mouth shut while a corrupt officer traded a prisoner off for personal gain."

He stood up and walked around his desk, a slight limp in his step as he moved. He motioned for Davis to stand as he approached her.

"I'm glad that's not the conversation we had today, Lieutenant Davis."

As her eyes went wide with realization he reached up and carefully removed the ensign rank plate on her uniform, replacing it with a junior lieutenant rank plate before saluting her.

"You are dismissed."

[Bette Davis]

Bette’s mouth fell open, and she stared down at her chest as the Vice Admiral fastened the new rank plate to her uniform.

”I - I - yes sir,” she managed, walking out of of his office in a daze. Afterward she couldn’t remember if she’d saluted or not, or done any of the things one was supposed to do upon promotion.

Her career wasn’t over.

More than that, she’d just been made an lieutenant junior grade.

Outside of Vice Admiral Garrett’s office she stood in the hallway for a moment, trying to collect her thoughts.

[Silus Xilarian]

"Looks good on you..."

Behind Bette, Silus was leaning against the wall. His face was a bit scratched up and his left arm was in a sling, but otherwise he was no worse for wear. He was grinning from ear to ear.

"Come on, take a walk with me. I've got something to show ya."

He walked past her but noticed she hadn't moved, a look of confusion on her face. He smiled.

"Direct order."

[Bette Davis]

“Yes sir,” she said automatically, turning to follow him. “I’m, uh, glad to see you on your feet, sir.”

She wasn’t going to apologize for shooting him. But, it was good to see Xilarian was not permanently injured.

There were many thoughts swirling through her mind as she followed Xilarian through the passages of the Relentless, but Bette kept them to herself for now. She followed quietly, saving her questions for a more opportune moment. She still didn’t quite believe what had just happened and kept looking down at her new rank plate as if to make sure it was actually there.

[Silus Xilarian]

For a few minutes they walked in silence. Bette still seemed to be somewhat in shock, so much so that there were times when Silus had to slow his pace to let her catch up. Finally, they reached an area of the ship that required biometric identification before they could enter. As soon as the door shut behind them, Silus slowed down a bit and started talking.

"So, in the early days of the Empire, one thing the higher ups learned pretty quickly is that the sight of a star destroyer is usually enough to gentle down any system that gets a little rowdy. You shine a light, and all the roaches scatter. The problem is, as soon as the light's out, they're right back to what they were doing. So the top brass got together and came up with a bright idea. Small squadrons of elite pilots that can be quietly deployed, get in, blow some shit up, and be out of the system before the rebels can even put their boots on.

Silus glanced over his shoulder to make sure Bette was still listening.

"They were a little too successful though. Rebels started paying more for information on elite pilots than they did for high ranking officers. Before long, the Empire was losing more pilots to assassination and defection than they were to actual combat. It took the Imperial Navy some time to realize they only had a finite amount of high level talent. When they did finally get it through their skulls, they sat down with Imperial Intelligence to figure out a way to keep helmets on their pilot's heads rather than knives in their backs."

They stopped in front of a door in the middle of a long hallway. Silus punched a code into the keypad by the door.

"This is my room, hang on just a second..."

Bette stood just outside the door, and was almost knocked over as Silus came back out, tugging a jacket over his shoulders and barely watching where he was going. The door whizzed shut behind him, and he was walking and talking again as if he'd never stopped.

"So anyways, that's where Admiral Garrett comes in. I don't know how much you know about him, but the guy is a certified badass. He was an intel agent in the Old Republic, and was one of the first agents out in the field after the formation of the Empire. Got messed up pretty badly on a mission though, so they had him quarterbacking missions from HQ and interrogating prisoners. The guy was an insanely good interrogator too. They said that one time...

Silus paused for a second, realized he was getting off topic, then refocused.

"Nevermind that. Anyways, they brought him in and put him to work keeping our pilots safe. The first thing he did was break up every squadron. On the official record, the current batch of pilots were too compromised to be effective, new blood would have to be brought in. It was all bullshit though. Fake pilot profiles were created. Fake mission logs, everything. Rebels couldn't find any of these pilots cause they didn't really exist. The existing pilots either 'retired' or were 'moved' to existing squadrons throughout the Empire."

He looked back at Bette and grinned as realization started to wash over her face.

"100% honesty, I've flown exactly three missions with Storm Squadron, and two of them were birthday parties."

As he said this, they passed through small hallway and into a hangar bay, where twelve TIE Advanced fighters sat motionless.

"Out of all of these, Shadow Squadron is the cream of the crop. Even after scrambling everything, the reputation just kind of persisted. I don't know if it's the name or what. Garrett hates the attention, but he rolls with it. While he's busy making sure the Rebel's are chasing shadows on one side of the galaxy, the real Shadow's are raising hell on the other side..."

He turned to Bette.

"...and one of these fighter's is in need of a pilot's ass to polish its seat."

He cocked his head to the side a bit as a grin spread across his face.

"Is that something that might interest you, or are you gonna shoot me again?"

He winked and made a little finger gun with his right hand.

"You make the call, Shooter."

[Bette Davis]

Bette tried to take in all the information, but she wasn’t sure she could retain it all without taking notes. She also had no idea how to get back to her temporary quarters from wherever it was they were.

The last question, however, certainly got her attention.

”Would it interest me?” She raised her eyebrows, then narrowed her eyes as he gave her a nickname. A smile crept over her face.

”Yes, sir.” Bette had eyes only for the TIE fighters. “Hell yes.”

[Bette Davis]

Dearest Father,

You have probably already heard my news, through someone at the Club, but I swear I’m sending this as soon as I can get access to the secure ‘net. You know how it is when you’re fresh out of the Academy.

I have recently been promoted to Lieutenant, and I am now part of a TIE squadron. I am extremely happy to be out of shuttle pool, which I always thought was a waste of my talent.

I know now you haven’t been writing back to me because you don’t want anyone to think you are somehow helping me make my way. To be honest I almost didn’t write this letter at all, as I’m not sure you read them, but in the end I am kind of writing this for me as much as for you.

I have been holding onto the knife you gave me - it was almost taken from me but I got it back. Non-regulation weapon. I’m sure you can imagine the write up.

Whenever i I have been in a tough situation I think back on what you used to drill into me. To be patient instead of panicking. Logical instead of emotional. Bend rather than break when things are hard, and never settle for the easy road when the difficult path is the right one.

And, of course, cocky instead of timid. You never really told me that, but I learned it from you and your many stories.

I like to think that Mother would be proud of me, if she were here.

I hope you are too.

~ Bette