Марта Уэллс - From a Certain Point of View

“And yet I sense an objection…?”

“He failed to consider the political aspect of his choice. He should have anticipated that Vader would prefer prisoners. An aggressive posture and rapid bombardment would leave none. Therefore, he should have taken a cautious approach.”

Ah. So she would rationalize his execution: snitch thought. What a fool Ozzel had been to plan an attack from orbit! Hoth was one of the major rebel command cells, and therefore, given prisoners, an opportunity to roll up every other rebel in the galaxy. Ozzel’s idiocy had nearly wasted that chance. Therefore it was not just Vader’s right but Vader’s duty, as a direct representative of the Emperor, as a black hand wiping away corruption and cronyism in the ranks, to execute Kendal Ozzel on the spot!

Before Alderaan, Canonhaus would’ve told himself exactly the same thing.

No, that was a lie. He would’ve rationalized it to himself even after the refugee mission. He had rationalized everything. Doubt grew much slower than fever wasps.

He said, “You talk about easy choices. Do you think of Death Squadron as an easy post?”

“Not easy, sir. But I was very excited to be posted here. Direct pursuit of the rebel military is what I want. Not…” She paused, performing inner politics, composing something that would look nice in a COMPNOR transcript. “Not the painstaking and difficult work, which our colleagues perform so well, required to separate rebels and collaborators from loyal citizens. Of course, loyal citizens must take on some of the burden of battling insurrection, including the emotional duty of assigning blame for any collateral damage to the rebels. But my own personal strengths, I feel, are in direct tactical warfare against the rebels, rather than counterinsurgency.”

“You feel that Death Squadron’s mission is cleaner, then. Compared with that of, say, ISB or the Ubiqtorate agencies. Or a stormtrooper legion.”

“Yes, sir. The Imperial Navy’s mission, in general, I find more morally direct.”

“Mm.” He thought, of course, of Helix. Was he ever not thinking of Helix? “Did you grow up admiring the navy?”

“Yes, sir, in my adolescence.”

“You had model fighters? Miniature legions? Snappy uniform-style fashions? Sub-adult group membership?”

“Yes, sir. I was a patriotic child.”

“Hm,” he grunted.

“I think you should file a protest over Admiral Ozzel’s execution, sir.”

He was so shocked that he thought the code cylinders would pop from his uniform. “Against Vader ?”

“Yes, sir. Obviously the protest will not be sustained. However, it would be appropriate to place a summary execution under review, in the same way that a captain who loses a ship always stands to court-martial. This way, Vader’s correct decisions can be fully documented and entered in the record for future officers to appreciate.”

Oh, child.

He took his XO by the shoulder. “Listen to me. There is no ‘protest’ against Vader. Vader can do anything he wants. He could strangle you and me and everyone on this bridge and face no censure.

“The New Order does not exist to bring order to anything. It is not the bright strong energy that lifted us from the Clone Wars and the Republic’s corruption. It’s not the maker and the organizer and the fixer that you thought it was when you buttoned on your junior-officer uniform.

“You liked to learn the names of stormtrooper legions, didn’t you? You liked to read staff notes, memorize the weapon loadouts of our starships, and debate tactical theory on the HoloNet. You think those things are the Empire. But all the sharp outfits, all the insignia and code cylinders, all the protocols and monuments…they are all burrs. Things that attach themselves to the Empire’s real purpose.

“The real purpose of the Empire is to give people like Vader the power to do anything they want. The bureaucracy, the ideology, the gleaming system we so admire—it accretes around that central core of cruelty solely because a bureaucracy allows us, the followers, to rationalize our participation through laws and protocols. If there is a cruelty the Emperor wishes to commit, a reason will appear for it. If there is an atrocity Vader perpetrates, a bureau or a directorate or a fleet or a squadron or a legion or a special sort of stormtrooper will be created to carry it forward as necessary for the security of the galaxy.

“There is no restraint or principle at the center of the New Order. And that is why people admire it. The Empire does all the things that people secretly believe should be done with power.”

He did not say any of that. And of course he did not take her shoulder.

Instead, he clasped his hands behind his back and said, “You know, I was recently detached to support a special task for Lord Vader. We were in a support role—perimeter control, navigational interdiction, logistics. Other forces carried out the primary mission.”

She shifted from foot to foot. Nervous or excited. “What was that mission, sir?”

“The destruction of a convoy.”

“And how many rebels did you bag, sir?”

“Not rebels. Alderaanian refugees.”

Her bright eyes took on the cold, sharp, dead aspect of a security droid. “A very difficult mission. But you are known for your perfect reliability, Captain.”

“Yes. I am.” He sniffed, and missed the faint burnt-dust smell of Majestic ’s old filters. Something tickled in his sinuses. Surely not the beginning of a cold. “After it was all over, I was given charge of the legal follow-up. I filed all the documents to establish that what we’d done was lawful, necessary, and fully in accord with Imperial law. No HoloNet transmissions—everything was couriered directly to Coruscant by stealth shuttle. I didn’t even keep my own copies.”

She nodded rapidly. “Very good, sir. I’m sure there was no problem.”

“No problem at all.” What was he doing? Was he really going to say this? Yes, he was, he was, because he was overflowing with bitterness, because he wanted to fling that bitterness at her, even at the cost of his own post. “Despite the fact that I misfiled every single report.”

“Beg pardon, sir?”

“I did everything wrong. The wrong codes. The wrong clearances. The wrong order of events. I dated our receipt of initial orders later than the actual mission reports. I listed Lord Vader as a spacecraft in our order of battle, and our targets as accountants from a Neimoidian purse world. I said that we were attempting to erase all records of Emperor Palpatine’s old gambling debts.”

She blinked at him, twice, trying to divine what in the galaxy he was trying to say. “As a test, sir?”

“Of course it was a test.”

“To be sure that someone was reading the reports, and holding the Imperial Navy accountable.”

“Of course. My duty.”

“And…?”

“No one made any protest. I suppose the forms went into a vault somewhere. Some airless place tended by droids. But no one read them.”

She swallowed, as if digesting. “And if we made a complaint about Admiral Ozzel’s death, sir?”

“I think we both know what would happen, Commander.”

They stood side by side in silence. A long-derelict faculty stirred in Canonhaus, and to his surprise it did not give up and slink away. It was curiosity about what was happening inside someone else’s head. He glanced aside to watch her, in this moment of crisis when she could do many things, depending on which of many people she might be. She could write him up to COMPNOR, or save this fraction of the bridge logs for future blackmail. Or arrive at a silent, shared understanding that they both recognized a problem.