The Vindictor drifted silently through hyperspace, its hull marked by the remnants of the Battle of Endor. The immense warship, a once-proud symbol of the Empire's might, now seemed fragile. The victory at Endor was supposed to be a triumph, but instead, it had shattered the Empire's illusion of invincibility. The Death Star was gone, Emperor Palpatine dead, and the fleet—what was left of it—was scattered, struggling to hold on to some semblance of order.
Lieutenant Kael Varos stood at his post, his expression impassive, eyes fixed on the tactical display that flickered before him. The fleet was a chaotic mess of shattered ships, emergency signals flashing in all directions. It was hard to tell whether they were still running from the Rebels, or if they were simply running from the truth: the Empire was dying.
A low hum vibrated through the Vindictor, a reminder of how far the once-feared war machine had fallen. Kael's fingers danced over the console, trying to reestablish communications with the scattered ships of the fleet. The task felt Sisyphean—each ship had its own problems, and some had already disconnected from the fleet's network, operating on their own, a dangerous fracture that would only become more pronounced as the days went on.
"Lieutenant Varos." The voice of Commander Ryvek snapped through the quiet, his tone sharp, unwavering. Kael turned to face him, snapping to attention as he did. The commander's figure cut a tall, imposing figure in his pristine uniform, his face set in a permanent mask of authority.
"Yes, Commander?"
Ryvek didn't waste time. He had never been one for pleasantries. "Have you reestablished contact with Captain Gortan's ship?"
Kael's brow furrowed slightly. "No, sir. His comms are down, and we're getting no response on the encrypted channel."
Ryvek's lips curled into a thin, humorless smile. "Gortan is always a problem. He's been disobeying orders ever since the Emperor's death. And now, he's ignoring direct orders to regroup with the fleet."
"Shall I attempt another transmission, sir?" Kael asked, trying to remain neutral. He already knew what was coming. He could feel it in the air—the tension, the fear, the underlying threat that lurked beneath every command now.
"No." Ryvek's voice was calm, but it carried an edge that Kael had come to recognize all too well. "Get the gunnery crew ready. Prepare to bring Gortan's ship down."
Kael's stomach tightened at the order, but his face remained a mask of professionalism. He had seen Ryvek's ruthlessness before, but this—this was different. It wasn't about a battle. It wasn't about the Rebellion or a strategic advantage. This was personal.
"Understood, sir." Kael swallowed, moving to relay the order to the tactical team. He couldn't shake the gnawing feeling in his gut. The Empire, once a force that inspired fear and loyalty, was now a broken thing, consumed by infighting and arrogance. And in the wake of the Emperor's death, even the most loyal officers were starting to show cracks in their resolve.
Kael turned back to the tactical console, his fingers moving swiftly to execute Ryvek's command. He issued the orders, his hands steady despite the turmoil in his chest. The Vindictor was already aligned with Captain Gortan's ship, the distant shape of the Tempest visible in the viewport. Its systems were still down, a silent beacon of defiance.
"Ready, Lieutenant," came the report from the gunnery officer.
The command bridge fell into an eerie silence, the crew members tense and waiting. Outside, the Tempest floated in the blackness, unaware of what was about to happen.
"I don't like this," Kael muttered under his breath, but no one heard. He knew there was no turning back now. Gortan had defied the Empire—defied Ryvek. And Ryvek would tolerate no insubordination.
"Firing solution locked, sir," came the voice of the gunner.
Kael's hand hovered over the console for a moment longer than necessary, the weight of the decision pressing down on him. He could almost feel the reverberations of this moment echoing through his body, his soul. The crack of a broken Empire, splintering from within. And now, in this quiet room, he was complicit in its further destruction.
Ryvek's voice broke the tension like a hammer striking glass. "Fire."
The order was immediate. There was no hesitation. The sound of the heavy blasters firing could be felt even on the command deck. Outside, the Tempest exploded into a brilliant cloud of flame and metal. The blaster bolts struck with pinpoint accuracy, piercing the hull, breaching the engine cores, and sending the ship into a fiery death spiral. The explosion lit up the viewport, casting harsh shadows over the faces of the crew. A moment of silence followed.
"Captain Gortan has been neutralized," the gunnery officer reported, his voice flat, unemotional.
Kael stared out at the remains of the Tempest, the glowing debris still drifting in the vastness of space. His mind was numb. He had followed orders, but a part of him—the part that still believed in the Empire's strength—felt a cold, bitter knot in his stomach. This wasn't how the Empire was supposed to end. This wasn't how it was supposed to feel.
"Good," Ryvek said coldly. "We can't afford weakness, Lieutenant. Not now. Not ever."
Kael didn't reply. He didn't need to. The weight of the order, of the death of a fellow officer—one who had refused to bow to the inevitable—was enough to swallow him whole. He could feel his resolve shaking, but he knew better than to show it. In Ryvek's eyes, weakness would be the last thing he could afford.
Ryvek turned, his eyes sharp. "Lieutenant, I have new orders. The fleet is to remain intact. We'll regroup and prepare to make a stand. Prepare yourself."
Kael's thoughts were a blur as he nodded, his mind still on the explosion. On the loss. On what it meant. He had never questioned orders before. But now... now it felt like the Empire was crumbling beneath his feet, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Ryvek didn't care about the fate of one ship, one captain, or even one officer. He only cared about one thing: power.
And Kael was beginning to wonder, deep down, if he still cared about that.